Noblesse Oblige
by shywr1ter
Summary: S1 ML. Updated, at least a little, for the Pulse Day Challenge! Missing weeks from I and I Am A Camera: Cale Industries' upheaval from the manufacture of a killing machine and at least 7 deaths? How can Logan not get involved?
1. VideoEyes

_**DISCLAIMER**: This fanfic borrows characters from the DA universe: not mine, never were. No profits realized. This chapter includes direct quotation from "I and I Am a Camera," which I thank the DA owners for airing and Kyre for offering in transcription form._

_**For this story,** events of approximately one or two month's duration are shoe-horned into the end of the Dark Angel episode, "I and I Am a Camera": the opening scene picks up the morning of Logan's hack and allows for the meeting between "Madame X" (later to be identified as Renfro) and Jonas' partner, Gilbert Neal--and Gil's presumed demise. It will, ultimately, resolve into the scene in which Logan shreds the check and Max's photographs (allowing the continuity people enough time to send out his sweater to be cleaned & returned, so he can wear it again to shred the stuff!) _

_This story will make more sense if you are familiar with "I and I Am a Camera," as there will be several references to events in that episode. Your humble storyteller hopes that the insertion of these additional weeks into the episode isn't too disconcerting. After all: do you really think Logan would let his family's involvement with murder and hoverdrones alone?_

** NOBLESSE OBLIGE**

**FOGLE TOWERS:** **Early morning**

"Aunt Margo..." The Penthouse was dim, diffused with the golden shafts of light filtering in from the pinkish sunrise glinting off neighboring high-rises. "It's Logan. I was... sorry... to hear about Uncle Jonas...are you doing alright...?" Words he expected from her–a sad combination of her own fears and uncertainty about suddenly being alone, with her concerns about what the other members of the Club would think–took center stage before any mention of her husband's suffering... or of his death. Logan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the realization that his low opinion of his aunt had proven so accurate.

He'd called at 8:01, the earliest possible time that could be construed as "decent." Clearly she'd been awakened by his call; her voice was groggy with sleep and, he suspected, the lack of the one or two bloody marys in her system that normally helped her–and until _this_ morning, Jonas–greet the day. He himself hadn't had his morning coffee yet; he'd stopped drinking yesterday's last pot of the night only about five hours before, and his system wasn't quite ready to jump into a new round of acidic caffeine, no matter how privileged he was to have it whenever he wanted.

He let her talk for a while, and murmured appropriate noises of sympathy and support so she would know he was listening, but then eased into the reason for his call. "Look, Aunt Margo–has anyone– anyone at all, from the office or even from the authorities–come to take Jonas' papers or his computer, or asked about files?"

"Well, Gil called yesterday to say he was going to stop by for some things, but he never came." She sounded distracted. "And some federal agents came, quite late, and took his computer–although he hadn't used that computer in over a year. They wouldn't believe me." She paused, and suddenly her words became more focused. "How did you know, Logan? How did you know they would be here? Bennett seemed surprised...how could _you_ know?"

He rubbed his eyes, gritty from the lack of sleep. He couldn't tell her what he knew–and that within hours, her share of the Cale assets would be all but lost. "I caught wind that there might be an investigation." he allowed, simply. " Aunt Margo, if there is anything, his papers, a calendar or another computer, anything..."

"So you can write about him?" Her tone was harsh. "Logan, your uncle told me that you were sniffing around the company for a story; he even implied you'd sell out your family for an expose'." Margo's words hit closer to home than he liked: after all, his goal, essentially, was just what she said–could his reasons really make a difference? "Even if there _were_ anything here, why would I trust you with it? Your uncle is dead; what possible use..."

"Maybe the good of the company?" he tried, gently.

"Then anything I find ought to go to your cousin." She dismissed him. "Jonas and he may not have been the closest father and son, but there's never been any question about Bennett's allegiance to the company." She paused, and in a _non sequitur_ only she and her ilk could conceive, asked, "Will you be coming here, after the service?"

Even after this many years, the juxtaposition of such apparently contradictory sentiments jangled, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, hoping for balance, wondering if he could find his voice. "Yeah." He managed, as he always did with his family. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then we'll have Herbert put down the ramp."

He bit his lip, but drew a deep breath and managed, "Thank you." He paused, then added, "I'll see you Friday." And hanging up, he drew a long breath, shook off the discomfort...and pushed back into his computer room to prepare for his upcoming telecast...

**FOGLE TOWERS: 11:45 a.m.**

"This has been a Streaming Freedom Video Bulletin via the Eyes Only informant net... Peace... Out..."

Logan killed the live feed, and sat back, immediately feeling second and third thoughts about what he had just done, an odd disquiet taking hold as he'd never felt after any other broadcast. He had never once questioned his hacks before, but this one had such personal significance...his family's name, connected with murder and government intrusion...his father's work, his grandfather's company, already sullied by what Jonas had done, now ripe for the feds to seize and sack with impunity, all in the name of 'civil protection.'

He let his breath out, shakily. He knew it had to be done and forced himself to put everything out there, before he changed his mind and let himself really think about the ramifications...with Jonas dead, who was at the helm? Gilbert and Byron were nowhere to be found, what with Jonas' death; clearly both of them had been involved in this killer-drone affair as well. Logan had been dreading the rest, that he would discover that his cousin, Bennett, might have been, too, until he spoke to his cousin the night before–clearly, the younger man was shaken by his father's death and still denying the possibility that the company was making anything like the killer-drone Logan had described to him, even hanging up on Logan in his anger at the accusation. The reaction actually made Logan feel a little better: Jonas might be able to lie to his face without a flinch, but Bennett...Bennett had been a brother to him. Not only would he know the signs, he was sure, but Logan _knew_ that even seven years with Cale Industries wouldn't have turned him that completely. He even felt a tiny bit of relief in the family secret he'd learned, from his uncle one night in his cups: Jonas didn't think Bennett had the "stuff" to _really_ be in on the Big Deals at CI...so, most likely, Uncle Jonas, in underestimating his youngest son, kept him out of the loop. Logan was yet again grateful, oddly enough, for the depths of his uncle's gracelessness...

So now--the hack was out, the information before the public _and_ the government–and because of the implication that local, even state government might be in the mix, the feds would have to swoop in. Logan sighed, allowing himself to start thinking about the impact...This would definitely hurt his family– but, he allowed to himself with a snort, they had only hurt him, hadn't they?

But not all of them had...he thought again of Bennett, now in the context of the wedding in which Logan had been best man, of Bennett's new bride, Marianne...He thought of the countless employees who would show up for work in the morning to find the entry padlocked... He remembered whose name was on the gates of the company's several acres, the grandfather listed as founder...the father who toiled there, before his brother succumbed that most insidious of post-Pulse plagues, _greed_...

The knots in his stomach tightened...this one could definitely destroy some of what he had...but, as opposed to what Max had foreseen, Logan began to imagine the toll in the lives of all the hundreds he'd affected in that 54 seconds of live righteous indignation he'd unleashed on the airwaves: _live_, so he couldn't turn back. He'd done the right thing...but this time, at such a personal and wide-ranging price...

When he finally could move, Logan crossed to his wine rack, where he paused and, then slowly, in a fog of painful memory, lifted a dusty bottle of wine from the rack to look at it, long, so many competing thoughts and emotions demanding his attention, so many memories ...and most them, as they involved Jonas, unpleasant. With a sigh of resolve, he lay the bottle in his lap. Grabbing the corkscrew at the rack, Logan pivoted and moved over to the table, where he let the bottle stand between his knees as, still moving deliberately, events crowding all aspects of the moment, he let the metal bore into the cork as he drove it home, then pulled evenly, until the cork popped free of the bottle's neck. He put the bottle on the table to wait, knowing Max would be over as soon as she could, after she'd hear about the hack...

...and Max...

Logan was exhausted with the thought that everyone around him was able to kill with so little thought... the photos of a young, bloody-faced Max already seared into his mind now mingled with the police photos of parolees killed by CI's hoverdrones and mixed further with the similar photos of his uncle, gunned down in his study. Did Jonas have nightmares about the men he killed, as Logan did, still, after that shattering trip to Cape Haven? ...did _Max_? Were Max and his uncle so different? His heart kept insisting they were–but his head hadn't found a plausible explanation yet of how it could be...

The Cabernet would do well to breathe, a little...and like the hack, with the bottle opened, there was no changing his mind...

**FOGLE TOWERS: Three hours later:**

When Max came into Logan's penthouse that afternoon, she didn't find him at the computer as she usually did, but in the living room, bent over a large book he had open on the coffee table. Hearing the door, he turned to watch her come in, a wan smile attempted with a slight nod, but nothing more. He looked drawn, a bit rough, as if he hadn't slept since she last saw him.

In kind, she smiled, coming closer to look across at the book in front of him, and could see that what he'd been studying was a photo album, older photos, clearly Cale family events...she looked from its pages up to his face, seeing an unreadable expression there. With a small frown, she responded, "Hey..." Looking more closely, realizing that this might be harder for him than she'd originally assumed, she asked, concern evident, "how you doin' with all this?"

"Me? Fine" he shrugged, leaning to close the album and turning to cross to the dining room table. Lifting two wine glasses hanging beside the wine rack along the way, he coasted up smoothly along side the table, next to the large wall of window, placing the stems on the table.

Max followed, appraising him, seeing the bottle now, already opened, waiting...pre-Pulse, naturally, it _was_ Logan, after all...but in the middle of the day, just the wine, waiting ...this _was_ hard for him, she could see. She was at something of a loss to know if she could offer much consolation, even if he were to admit anything. She saw that beside the wine lay a check...one embossed with the words "Cale Industries" in the corner. As she came along the windows to sit in the dining chair facing him, he lifted the check and held it in his lap, ruffling it softly, looking at it as if it were the only tangible thing left of what his father and grandfather had worked so long and hard to build. "So you did it, huh?" she broke the silence.

He did not meet her eyes at first. "Mm-hmm. Sure did." He drew a breath and raised his eyes to hers as he spoke again. "By the time the banks open tomorrow morning, this check won't be worth the paper it's printed on."

His voice was too studied. She would let him have that–but his sitting here, letting the check lose value as the day wore on, made no sense. She lifted her eyebrows and said, in a light prod, "Maybe you should go cash it then."

With a quick jerk of his arm, Logan brought his watch under his nose to glance at it in exaggerated study. "Five after three." He snapped the fingers of his watch hand and his eyes pierced hers. "Damn." As she watched him drop the sardonic look and toss the check onto the table, Max knew he was somehow giving up the money as a penance, for whatever reason he felt he needed to be absolved. But he glanced up to her, briefly appraising, as he moved to take the bottle of wine before him and pour the wine gently into her glass. "My Uncle Jonas gave me this bottle when I graduated from college. Told me to save it for a special occasion." He filled his own as well.

"Like financial ruin?" Max prodded.

"Why not?" The smirk had faded, but the irony in his voice was strong. He was not going to let anything slip in front of her, she saw. She didn't completely understand this wall he'd built, nor the last days of strain between them. Now he seemed to be challenging her, as well. She would respect the distance he appeared to want; these deaths– including that of his uncle, one of those responsible for the loss of Snuffy and the others–could throw a do-gooder like Logan, and for now, she would chalk it up to that. As he raised his glass in salute, she raised hers as well. "To my dear Uncle Jonas, who, underneath his winning smile, was a cold-blooded killer."

Logan tapped his glass against Max's and watched her, carefully, with his last words. The beautiful brown eyes were cast down, her face, sad somehow, yet Logan managed to resist them for the moment as he looked under her own 'winning' features: Lydecker had given him evidence that she too was a cold-blooded killer, implying she, as did his uncle, would kill for reasons more selfish than self-protection. How could he forgive her if he couldn't forgive Jonas?

Max, for her part, was blessedly unaware of the scrutiny under which she was being held, notwithstanding the "weird vibe" she'd felt from him. Suspecting that Logan might be feeling the same sort of pain she did, each time she was confronted with another twist of evil courtesy of Manticore, she wondered if there was anything she could say or do to make him feel better. Inexplicable, this sadness she felt at the thought of Logan's loss; except...all the good he did for others... She wondered if anything she could offer might help him feel any less betrayed. Finally, she drew a breath in empathy. "The one thing I learned in my years at Manticore is never underestimate what people are capable of doing to each other."

His gaze didn't wander from her face, but his eyes seemed to refocus; he suddenly saw her, and drew a breath, as if coming to terms with something inside...still rough and distant, yet the spark sought to reconnect... "My uncle, for all his privilege, went right for the heart of darkness. You've lived your life trying to get as far away from that as possible." For that moment, his voice softened, just a little; the intensity had waned.

She shrugged, sadly, the toll of endless hurts and betrayals and barriers affecting her too. "Guess that counts for something."

And in response, Logan almost smiled, wearily, but a connection foreshadowed, again, with her...and Max knew he would be alright. He would need time, but the same strength that allowed him to make that hack would keep him going–and her momentary admission to ease his way caused her at that moment, embarrassed, to need to retreat. For now, she had another loss to mourn. "Gotta blaze. Got to meet the gang for Snuffy's memorial." After only a few steps, however, she slowed, his observation making her want to remind him that for all her efforts to avoid the past, she hadn't shaken the danger...and for each page, each call, each dinner, she might be bringing it right to his doorstep, as well... "Thing is...it's always there, the darkness...right on my tail."

"I know..." His response was quiet–but soft...immediate... "...but you got moves."

**FOGLE TOWERS: Ten hours later:**

Eight hundred and fifty seven. That was the number of employees at the main office and labs of Cale Industries, there in Seattle; eight hundred and fifty seven men and women with families to feed, rent to pay...another four hundred and ninety three in the European division, possibly still so intertwined with the Seattle office that Logan's older cousin, Richard, might not be able to hold it intact in the aftermath of events...at least four major subcontractors that did little other than produce CI products; how many more did that represent? Other suppliers, subs...the ripples from this pebble kept moving outward, growing bigger...

All pissed away by his hack...

Logan came back to earth with a deeply drawn breath and a hand rubbed over his face. As much as Logan wanted to beat himself up over the events of the past twenty four hours, he couldn't take the blame on this one: it was his uncle and his uncle's partners, at least some of them, that had caused all this: even if EO hadn't interceded they were likely to have brought ruin to the company, someday; this way, at least Cale Industries wasn't in the business of murder anymore–for whomever or whatever they had been...

Logan took the last draw on the whiskey in which he had indulged, that evening, hoping it would bring sleep, not letting it have a chance yet to work. Maybe it shouldn't bother him _why_ CI had gotten into the business of assassination technology, but it made a tremendous difference to him at the moment, whether Jonas had simply sought to find a solution to a customer's order, no matter how abhorrent it might be–or if his dear uncle and his cronies had actually decided it was a good product for R & D create, to put on the market to the highest bidder, thus offering a whole new method of "sterile" murder to those who made killing a regular part of doing business.

And, along with that intensely personal quest for information...he might just be able to determine who exactly _was_ behind the rash of homicides engineered by his family's business...

Still unready to face sleep, he listlessly turned back to one of his monitors, running the canned video back several days, to when he first asked Jonas for any surveillance footage the company might have, from their 'drones. Funny; when he started recording the CI feeds he thought he was doing it merely because it was so easy for him to do so, what with all the inside information he knew about the company from his visits and brief stints there; he hadn't expected it to offer anything, but half-heartedly justified his actions by thinking that if there _was_ any police involvement, he might catch a contender or two visiting the company by pirating all their surveillance tapes.

But Logan began taping from all security media at the company in earnest since the 'drone came after _him_, broadening his collection from any and all sensors, cameras or other recording devices the company had installed, which were not trifling: long in the defense contracting business, they not only had access to the newest, state of the art equipment but had good reason for its widespread use throughout their facilities. He'd even had his hand in some of its purchase and installation, Bennett more aware than his father's partners of Logan's interest in–and probable expertise with–such elaborate, covert hardware...

As a result, not all that many at the company knew all the surveillance occurring there, nor would it be readily apparent. Logan hoped that he might, with these systems, determine exactly who was behind the killer drones, how they were developed–and who, over the past 48 hours, came in to seize CI's records, along with who would attempt to do so over the next few days. Once he knew that, he might take some action to prevent further perversion of what his father and grandfather had worked so hard to achieve–if there was anything that could be done...

Now running the tapes way back to their start, hoping to get a baseline of activity with which to compare the past several hours, Logan frowned to see a previously unremarkable lab in R & D set up with thumbprint recognition technology, human guard, and visible cameras overlooking the hidden one also providing a feed. And he noted that Gilbert Neal, alone or with others, was a frequent visitor to the lab...

Logan sat back, frown deepening. Back in the day, it wasn't unusual for the owner-creators of budding technology to meet with their engineers and techs, to encourage and advise and generally watch their projects come alive. But for Gil and Jonas, those days ended long ago, and usually they were content to let the division managers report in at their monthly board meetings, and let the money roll in. Yet here...

Using some search and enhancement features, Logan was able to isolate Gil's image and fast forward to each appearance–there were several, over the past days; some alone, a couple with Jonas...and one with a trio of unfamiliar people, to whom Gil seemed to be catering; the one in charge a female, those with her, her flunkies. Logan sat forward and stared, a cold dread growing inside. He had no proof nor reason to believe it, but as with too many of his investigative hunches, he believed, nonetheless: his gut told him that these three looked like government, that they were black ops...and that, given the last few days' events, if they weren't Manticore, they were its evil twin...

_**...to be continued...  
**_


	2. A Second Pair of Eyes

_DISCLAIMER: DA belongs to Eglee, Cameron & Fox. No financial gain in this for me. _

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**FOGLE TOWERS: 2:14 AM, Seattle; 11:14 AM, Zurich**

Logan drummed his fingers against the wheel of his chair, impatiently waiting for his cousin Richard to take his call. After several tries, Logan had finally managed to get Rick's personal assistant on the line and convince the woman that what he had to say was urgent and needed Richard's immediate, personal attention.

In his second hour of reviewing all the surveillance materials he'd managed from Cale Industries, Logan saw, in footage labeled as occurring nearly simultaneously with the assassination of his uncle, the two male members of the visiting trio return to the lab, overtake the guard, and make their way inside. At that point, one set about destroying every test mock up and piece of hardware in sight, as the other busied himself at the computer console, expertly hacking into the system, as far as Logan could tell on close up, to obliterate any proof that the project ever existed.

They'd deleted the known security data, too–but, to Logan's glimmer of satisfaction amid it all–not from the more recent, stealthy sources he and Bennett had added. So he had that, as well as what he'd taped in real time. Now, with luck, this trio–and whomever or whatever sent them–would not know that, as every business model encourages back up, CI had not only local, but remote back up allowed by its European assets. At least, maybe they hadn't discovered it yet...

As the line finally clicked and he heard his older cousin's voice, Logan breathed more easily.

"Logan, I'm in the middle of a crisis here, or are you too busy playing investigative reporter to know there've been some new developments with the company–_and_ the family?"

Logan chose to ignore the crack. "Richard, listen to me: I need you to upload to me immediately every back-up file you have in any way related to the Seattle office. I sent your assistant the link–have someone do it now, right away; if it's discovered that you have these files too they'll be erased the moment they're discovered."

"Wait a minute; Logan, who the hell do you think you're..."

"Richard, damn it, there's no time to debate this. I promise I'll explain..."

"I don't care if you do, because..."

Hating to say more because of unsecured lines, hating the delay, Logan finally spat "Listen to me: have your IT guy–your best one–encrypt it all, put in as many access limits as you want–but do it and _send_ it, now. Richard, you know who is involved with CI contracts and you know they can wipe out what you have in a heartbeat, if they want. All the Seattle files are _gone_, Rick, along with the proof I think they contain about who murdered your father. Now _do it_. I'll be waiting and I can store the files in a way they can't access. When you get it done–and when you feel like discussing it --I'll be here. And when you get your guy to give me access–I might even be able to get some answers."

He slapped the button on his keyboard disconnecting the call, angry at the family distrust that prevented Richard's reaction from being an immediate, no questions asked response to Logan's call. A part of him prodded back that he hadn't spoken to Rick in several years, that he was asking the CFO of CI's European subsidiary, nearly a stand-alone company, to send everything to the family's black sheep, who they all believed would sell out the Cales if it meant a Pulitzer in his pocket...

But Logan was also a significant stockholder in Rick's company, so hurting _it_ would hurt Logan. And in the midst of CI's upheaval, anything Rick could do to keep the division afloat and separate from CI so it wouldn't be looted as a part of Cale Industries would benefit Logan as well. As a Cale, Rick understood that it was all about the bottom line. Logan hoped that Rick would be willing to consider all of that first, and ask questions later...

It was a faster consideration than he'd hoped. Opening the screen at the suddenly appearing, blinking icon, Logan breathed another sigh of relief as he watched Cale Europe connect to his system and begin uploading file after file into his data storage...

**FOGLE TOWERS: 10:45 AM, Seattle  
**

Coming into the elevator, feeling an unfamiliar impatience, Bling swiped his security card in the panel and hit the button to Logan's floor. His disquiet rippled again that he could not force the doors to close immediately, nor push the elevator car to rise faster. He was anxious to see Logan and see how he was doing, given all that had happened over the past several days.

Normally he knew what Eyes Only projects were pending and which were soon to break, and particularly, knew when a hack was imminent. But the news of an EO hack the day before took Bling by surprise, the subject matter unsettling. He suspected that the news was very recent, and given the circumstances, he also assumed that it was one of the toughest Logan ever had to do. His calls late last night after hearing it all had gone unreturned. And given _that_, it had taken all of Bling's strength not to just appear at Logan's doorstep the night before–or at the crack of dawn. Now, in the late morning following, he had no clue in what condition he might find Logan Cale, major shareholder of Cale Industries...

Bling let himself in, as he usually did, and came through the quiet penthouse to enter the kitchen and lay the bag of groceries on the counter, barely stopping on his way to the computer room as he flipped off the pot of coffee still cooking, a nearly-black two inches of thickened sludge remaining. The computers, up and humming, were abandoned --not unheard of, but in the circumstances... Bling moved on to the living room.

And there, long length stretched out on the couch, glasses still on and laptop balanced across his hips, lay the great Eyes Only, dozing uncomfortably as exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

Bling winced at the sight, imagining what self-directed blame and guilt had led Logan to look like he did at the moment . Even in sleep he looked gaunt and the circles under his eyes dark against his palor, brow troubled. Bling wondered if there was anything he could offer that Logan would agree to do to get away from all of it, even for a few days...

At least Logan's position showed him that his patient was finally listening to him, Bling reminded himself. With this particular couch, lying down along its length was actually less comfortable for Logan than sitting on it upright, so Bling knew that his stretching out like this was less for comfort than as a nod to Bling's repeated reminders that he _needed_ to change position more often, that pressure sores were not a joke. Bling also saw, under his computer, the thin insulated board he'd found, so that the heat from the humming computer on his lap didn't end up scorching his unfeeling lower abdomen or thighs when left in one place for several hours, as had yet again happened this morning, apparently. Bling took the acquiescence he saw in these things as a another victory...

He considered Logan, hating to wake him, but knew he wasn't getting much rest like this. Although Logan should go stretch out in bed for a few hours, Bling suspected that once awakened, he'd just get back to the business of trying to save the world. First returning to the kitchen to start a carafe of water to heat, Bling then came back to perch on the sturdy, low table in front of the couch, and spoke Logan's name, quietly. He watched as the groggy face shifted, a breath drawn.

Green eyes appeared between slits of his eyelids, disappeared behind closed ones, then fought again to meet his trainer's. "Hey" he managed. "I thought you said you'd be late today."

"I am" Bling responded, still looking Cale over. "Looks as if maybe you are, too."

Logan grimaced, then shrugged; as he started to press himself up and back a little, coming more upright, Bling deftly reached over to lift the laptop off Logan's hips and lay it on the table. "Thanks" Logan murmured, his expression telling Bling he'd already started remembering all that had been going on in recent days. "I guess I got involved and...it got pretty late."

"I heard about the hack. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He repeated the quick assurance he tried with Max the day before.

"Yeah, I can see that. But how are you doing?"

Logan looked into the wise face, seeing the eyes that carried concern for him. Appreciative, he was always at a loss to know how to take it–it wasn't an emotion extended to him by many after his parents died– and he had been burned often enough that trusting it wasn't always easy. He dissembled, "you know, I never thought the day would come when you were asking me if I was okay because of _work_, and not because of some new therapy you think will shoot up my blood pressure–or make it bottom out."

Bling never dropped his gaze. "Well, we can celebrate that happy thought later–and can discuss why you think I'm so easily distracted. Right now–I want to know if this has gotten to you."

The facade cracked a bit, and Logan's eyes showed a ripple of vulnerability, with a little of the pain he'd been through over the last hours...and the last years. He sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Yeah, well...imagine finding that your family was in the business of designing better, faster, cheaper ways to kill off the populace." His voice was low, his words, flip–but the pain was there. "Imagine that the 'family trough' paying your room and board was gained by being the best at supplying the tools of subjugation. Not a happy moment."

"So you made it right."

"I made it public–I haven't done anything yet to make it right."

"Yet?" Bling asked, immediately. Logan's first instinct was to play it off, but knew it would be wasted effort. He thought a few moments before speaking again.

"I don't know that there's _any_thing I can do to make it right." Logan admitted. "But...I've been looking in to a few things...I would like to follow the thread, see if I can find who ordered the things, and who or what was behind them."

"You think someone else came up with the idea to add guns to the drones?"

Logan snorted in a humorless laugh. "The sole reason my uncle did anything was to make a profit. Same for his partners. They would have had no reason to build one of those things if there wasn't something in it for them--or at least knew there would be bidders. I'm trying to decide now if there was a special order involved that spurred their development, and so, who–or what–was involved."

Bling watched the eyes, the ones that told everything, and saw a wealth of unstated detail. "You've found something..."

Logan wavered only bare moments before saying, "Come look at this." He reached a bit stiffly for his chair to pull it close, pulling his legs off the couch into a seated position to begin his transfer. But he hesitated, looking up to Bling with another sudden thought–the ripples of effect his hack had on so many...this time, it could be Bling. He had to make things clear, he had a responsibility of candor to this man, over nearly anyone else in his life. He looked back up. "No, wait–before that..." He drew a steadying breath. "Look...I probably just gave away any assets in the Cale Trust, which represented a big part of what I lived on–both the earnings and the shares themselves are likely to be seized. It's not the only thing I had; what broker isn't going to insist you diversify–but I honestly don't know what I have now and the value of anything remaining. With the economy, companies going bust or merging or reorganizing every week...I haven't kept up with any of it, so I have no idea if I have fifty cents or fifty million. I'm sorry, Bling..."

Bling looked at the man before him, cashmere sweater slightly askew, designer khakis rumpled from spending the night on the couch, his usual-three-day-beard looking frouzy at day five, and his spiky, unruly hair looking positively incorrigible. Bling had absolutely no doubt that he had no idea what the current state of his assets was–and was surprised to find that he admired Logan all the more for it. "We'll figure something out."

Stubbornly, wanting to be sure Bling understood, Logan insisted, " I just don't know if I can pay your salary; maybe you should get back with the hospital, full time..."

"We have got to work on this misconception you have, that I'm not smart enough to know when you're trying to throw me off–or when you're trying to tell me the facts of life. We'll _deal_, Logan, so come on –show me what you've got to show me." He stood, seeing the green eyes raise to him in a combination of embarrassment and reticence. Bling nudged, "Worse comes to worst, just think about the fact that every other informant or operative you have out there does what they do for the good of the act, and not for pay. What's wrong with me going back to being one of the troops?"

Logan finally relented very slightly, with a sad shrug. "I couldn't let you do the therapy, though..." he insisted. "That's your income."

"Why not? You let me sew up folks and do other medical stuff for free, a while back." Bling looked at him and insisted, "we'll work it out. For now–just show me the damn stuff." Logan's eyes dropped, silent, having no words for the man's offer. But after only a brief moment, he nodded–and reached again toward his wheelchair, leaning in to lock the brakes. Seeing that Logan was going to comply, Bling turned to head back toward the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder to his charge. "Looks like you could use some tea to start things–any preference?" He looked back to see Logan shake his head no, and kept on, determined not to let Logan see his concern. In this, Logan reminded him of his father, the same absent-minded professor type: bright, driven, almost childlike in their willingness to let the concerns of real life slide by without question, sweetly trusting in brokers or lawyers or other agents to worry about the details...and he had the same soft spot –and same concern--for each of them. Neither had been bitten by that trust yet–but it didn't make Bling any happier.

Logan had done such amazing things for so many people--yet his degree in--what the hell was it again? "﻿Ethics, Politics, and Economics," some Yale-mixed department-- coupled with his sporadic above-ground work history, didn't exactly make him a leading candidate for the precious few jobs surfacing in the upended economy. Worse, his physical realities cut down the range and number of jobs he could land, not only because of the physical requirements of the work, but the physical limitations of so many structures and locations now that just didn't bother to make themselves accessible to someone on wheels. And not only was Logan as human as anyone, needing funds to buy food and heat and shelter, but truth was, it was just usually more expensive to be paraplegic than not. Logan's injury was the sort that could require medical intervention, both of the preventative and restorative type, as well as palliative, over the years. And none of it was cheap. He'd been lucky, so far, and had not succumbed to too many infections or ills associated with paralysis. But there was no guarantee that wouldn't change in the future.

Bling sighed as he prepared their tea. It wasn't that Logan wasn't able and bright and more than willing to do a day's work, just like the rest of the world had to do...there were just too many damn factors that were going to limit his options, too many that would make financial crisis downright dangerous for him. It just wasn't right, after all he had done...

Bling breathed in deeply, stilling his concerns, to decide sagely with his exhale that all he could do for the moment was just to take a page from their book and trust –here, trust that Logan's brokers had earned their probably-sizeable commission and kept him in the green. After all–both his own father and Logan had managed to sail through on trust, somehow. With a soft smile of hope at the thought, Bling lifted the steaming mugs to shake off his musings and walk in the computer room.

At Bling's appearance, Logan sat up a bit straighter, moving his nose a few inches further back from the monitor. At the proffered mug, he murmured his thanks and took this morning's concoction. As Bling reached around to pull up the desk chair sitting off to the side, Logan began explaining, "I copied surveillance film from Cale Industries, starting about three days before my uncle's murder. Early on I only have eight cameras' feeds, but added more a couple days ago." His fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling data and loading photos he'd added to his files. "I found that Research & Development turned one of their regular labs into some big-deal restricted site" he showed Bling a shot of the security officer, print pad lock and sign in terminal "that had been getting a lot of individualized attention from Jonas' partner, Gil Neal..." he ran through several still photographs, "and some interesting visitors." As Logan ran the clips from the security cameras over three different visits, he watched as Bling sat forward, suddenly riveted on the trio. "Remind you of anything?"

Bling's eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized the movement and behavior of the visitors. "What about footage inside the room?" he asked, low.

"I didn't get that started 'til after the attacks on Jonas and me." Logan admitted, switching to internal feed. "I was able to get some data stored from earlier, but only twenty four hours back. I didn't see too much that was helpful." He ran the video on a fast forward, allowing surveillance of the then-quiet interior lab. "Until this..."

Bling watched the video that had prompted Logan's hurried call overseas several hours before, the attack on the guard and the destruction of the lab. As the therapist's eyes rounded, Logan added softly. "I was able to retrieve some back-up copies of the files they destroyed. I haven't been able to look at them in much detail yet."

"Government, aren't they? Black ops?"

Logan grunted softly at Bling's assessment identical to his earlier. "Sure feels like it. So far, their trail is covered. If they're freelance, it was after retiring from service." He glanced again to Bling, whose attention was riveted on the two men in the grainy video. "See anything to help find out for certain?"

"Hmmmm..." Bling was watching everything, searching for something... "Can we go back to the first tapes, let me look again?"

"Sure." Logan felt a comforting reassurance in Bling's focused attention on the films. Bling had his share of hours in the military, in black ops as well, that allowed him an eye for this Logan could never equal. Suddenly sharing the weight, Logan allowed himself to relax and realized that not only was he still exhausted, his eyes like sandpaper and shoulders aching for release, but that he'd missed several meals over the last hours. As the earliest tape of the trio started up again, he released his brakes and backed up a bit to ask, "You miss breakfast again?" Turnabout was fair play, after all–Bling's recent schedule had him stretched past his own usual counsel, and Logan was damned well going to mother _him_ when he had the chance, for a change.

As the dark eyes turned to him, breaking from the riveted stare at the screen to admit his shameful lapse to Logan, he mused, "Must be your bad influence."

"Right" Logan actually managed a grin, and backed up some more to turn as he spoke. "Omelets up in ten." Moving on to the kitchen to pull out the eggs, cheese and vegetables he'd need to make them breakfast, Logan began to think of ways he just might be able to help Bennett hold CI together, at least enough to regroup and start fresh. That...and to find out who was behind his father's murder.

And _that_ meant that apart from any investigation he ran, any information he found...he would have to regain Bennett's trust that, no matter what, he too, underneath it all, was a Cale, and a part of the family that their grandfather had sired, just as he'd given birth to a company that had taken such a drastically wrong turn...

_...to be continued..._


	3. Ayes Only

_**DISCLAIMER:** Please see earlier disclaimers: nothing new on that front._

_**ONCE AGAIN, THANKS** for the input. Several comments have helped clarify my thoughts for what's in store, and all have been a help in finding what works! Please keep 'em coming._

**SEATTLE, SECTOR NINE, Casper Drive: **

Eight hours later, Logan sat outside in the rain, waiting. If this indignity, suffered because of his inability to mount the four steps up onto Bennet's front entryway, resulted in Bennett seeing him–maybe even, he allowed ruefully, _moved_ his cousin to see him–then it was worth it.

His calls had been rebuffed; his trip to Cale Industries, unproductive. First turned away at the gate, he was finally allowed inside to be told that Bennett wasn't there. And during his brief stay, Logan saw the formerly bustling company frozen in indecision, workers locked out, administrative staff hushed and anxious.

So the only thing left for Logan to do was to storm the battlements. Pulling up as dusk was settling in, he remembered–upon seeing them–that these 'battlements' had steps. Given the rest of his day, he was grimly certain that Murphy's Law guaranteed he'd find the back door either unreachable or equally insurmountable. Still, stubbornly, he pulled up the collar on the thin windbreaker he'd grabbed hours earlier, not planning for the weather, to brave the chilly, April Fool's Day downpour. How apt a day for this, he prodded himself, as he discovered that once again, his instincts were right...

So now, growing colder as well as wetter, knowing he'd lost all hope of a dramatic, unexpected appearance at Bennett's front door, he made one last attempt, pulling out his cell phone and hoping Marianne was home. At least she answered his calls, when caller ID displayed his number to show who was calling...

"Logan?" Her soft voice, becoming familiar to him now, still carried the tones of concern and weariness he'd heard developing earlier in the day. More ripples, he thought...

"Hey, Marianne. Would you ask Bennett to take a look out front, please?"

Without another word from her, Logan saw the curtains stir immediately, and Marianne's face appeared. With a soggy, flutter-fingered wave, Logan watched her as his presence registered, followed immediately by the curtains flapping back into place as she retreated. In only brief seconds, Bennett's face materialized where Marianne's had been, a look of angry exasperation visible even from the sidewalk where Logan sat. Now _his_ face disappeared, and in bare moments, Bennett jerked open the front door, took a step out and hesitated, suddenly pivoting to go back inside, leaving the door ajar. In just as few seconds he reappeared, carrying a large golf umbrella. Already swearing as he came outside and down the steps, Bennett struggled the umbrella open and stomped up to where his now-drenched cousin sat, lifting its large form over them both.

"Damn it, Logan, are you crazy? What were you thinking? You'll freeze to death!"

Despite the almost-comic circumstances, both of them dripping and Bennett spurting his anger in little wet puffs of vapor, appreciation nudged at Logan as he realized that something was different about _this_ Cale. If he'd done the same thing outside his aunt's house, Margo would have hustled outside just as quickly, but only for the purpose of bustling him away from the prying eyes of her neighbors, her focus so fixed on what _others_ would think that it would never cross her mind to wonder why he was drowning himself in front of her home. But Bennett never took his eyes off Logan, oblivious to whether or not anyone saw him leaving his disabled cousin stranded at the curb. Bennett was flat-out pissed at his risking his health, Logan noted in some surprise–and the reaction touched him. "You wouldn't see me at CI, wouldn't take my calls..." Logan blinked up through rain streaked lenses, not bothering to wipe them with the soaked sleeve he knew would just make matters worse. "Are you _that_ angry with me?"

Bennett stared down at him, shifting emotions parading across his face before finally agonizing, "Damn it, Logan, I'm not angry at you–is that what you thought?" He shook his head, drawing a breath to start again, but stopped, realizing, "Look, you're soaked–and even though you could come in the back way, I don't know that I have dry clothes that would fit you."

Logan shook it off and suggested, "Look, we could just go talk in my car..."

"That's not going to make you dry." Bennett frowned, then said, "You go home, and dry off. I'll be there in–what, an hour? How long will you need to get a hot shower and change?"

Logan waved it away, "I don't need a shower–I'll just get out of these clothes..."

"Logan, damn it..." Bennett was flustered, clearly concerned about Logan's well-being.

Logan let his chilled fingers drop to his wheels, assuring him, "Bennett, honestly–a towel and some dry clothes are all I'll need." He backed up a little, moving out of the shelter of the umbrella. "An hour?"

"Make it two" Bennett growled. "And take the damn shower!"

**FOGLE TOWERS: 9:05 PM**

Bennett had actually been closer to the mark than Logan had recognized until he found himself shivering in the car on the drive home, even with the heater full blast, not much change in his stiffened fingers and clammy skin. He probably did need that shower, but that wasn't what would necessitate the additional prep time under the circumstances. It was all the other stuff–his somewhat slower, slippery transfer into the car with wet, stiffened hands, the ten minute drive back home, the still slowed, soggy transfer once home, the even slower process of undressing when clammy, wet clothes clung... the hour Bennett originally anticipated was calculated by his memory of the old Logan, he realized. The second hour he'd added had been just about right.

So now, after an hour and forty minutes and a rather hot shower, it was a decidedly more comfortable Logan, in thick wooly socks, heavy sweat pants, long sleeved tee shirt and zippered fleece pullover–all blessedly dry--who sat at the dresser and let the hot air of his hair dryer curl down his neck under his shirt, letting the blower run a few minutes after his hair was dry, enjoying the warmth even well after the icy wet chill had been chased away. Finally switching it off, he started to move out of the bedroom when he happened to get a look at his feet, motionless and suddenly comical in their socks, vulnerable...

Uncertain why the unexpected embarrassment had surfaced, Logan went back to retrieve his sneakers and plop them in his lap. He'd start the coffee and pull them on before Bennett arrived, to make him appear a little less helpless, Logan decided–and wondered immediately why he thought shoes would help...

Moving into the kitchen to pull out coffee and start filling the pot, it occurred to him that his self-conscious responses were because Bennett had been there, in his home, only one other time since he'd been injured. If it wasn't enough that this was his one, remaining relative who seemed to have some concern and affection for him, he was also the one remaining officer at Cale Industries he could trust. Or at least, he _trusted_ that he could trust him. And he couldn't walk away from his responsibility to CI and its employees and shareholders, as it now foundered, any more than he could walk away from Eyes Only's responsibility to make its activities–his _uncle's_ activities–public. So on two very different fronts, he needed Bennett to see that he was as able as he'd ever been to help in this...

He slid the basket of coffee grounds into the machine, poured in the water and set the machine to start its brew. Moving on into the computer room, he saw that yet another waiting message had been added to the four already there upon his arrival. He hit the playback button to listen as he lifted his right foot to rest it on his left knee, and work the shoe carefully over his unfeeling toes. The first message was Matt with a requested update on an unrelated matter; the second was Max. The third was another informant, as was the fourth, and the fifth . . .

"Logan, it's me. Look..." Max's voice carried her concern, more than he was used to hearing from her. Well, he'd certainly put her through enough of a cold shoulder recently that he shouldn't be surprised, and wondered how he could have been so callous to the woman who mattered to him more than any other woman ever had... more than any other person could. "I know things really suck right now, and you're probably tryin' to find some way make things right. I want to help...you've been there for my family...and I figure I can do the same for you. Call me..."

He felt a shame in his recent doubts of her–and then guilty as the same doubts still allowed themselves to be heard, if from a distance..._What happened with Ben? The same fate as the luckless victim in the photos Lydecker sent...?_ He shook it away as he lifted the phone. Her past wasn't her fault, and long before she was really old enough to take matters into her own hands she did just that, her mission to leave all it behind and just live her life...All that, and she was who he knew her to be–the woman he loved, whether or not he could ever admit it to _her_. The woman he could trust, the woman who ran from the path they'd tried to create her to follow–the complete antithesis of the uncle he would see buried in the morning.

Logan hit the speed dial for her pager. He at least owed her a call. Time was when he might have chafed that she felt the need to check up on him, as if he needed a nanny. But right about now...it felt better than anything to know that she cared...

His phone rang in less than three minutes, barely after he'd gotten his second shoe tied and nestled in next to its twin. Grabbing the phone at his elbow, his response was greeted by a studiedly casual Max. "Hey, I was starting to think you'd hired another cat burglar." She tried to make it light, he heard. "How've you been doing?"

He had been a jerk to her; he'd withdrawn with his mental accusations and somehow, his revved up angel had sensed it and had taken it to heart. He'd have to do better... "Okay–thanks. How about you?" It occurred to him that in the world of the Cales, this was as trite a conversation as any, answers offered and not registered. But with him...with Max...it was heartfelt...even intimate. No matter what, it was still vitally important to his peace of mind to know that she was safe...

"Same ol'..." He noted that her attempts at being the tough guy didn't sound as believable as they used to. Was he getting a better ear for her–or did she just have more trouble hiding from him? Either way, it gave him more to consider... "So, were you out tracking down whomever was behind those 'drones?'

"You mean, other than my family?" Notwithstanding his thoughts of Max, his bitterness for his uncle's actions led the retort and made him sound harsher than he'd intended. He backed off. "I'd like to..." he conceded, "but I'm not sure how much of a trail there is. I managed a few files and surveillance tapes, but they're dead ends so far." He still hoped that Bling might help him see something, but there was nothing new yet on that front.

"Logan, I know how family things can be–well, you know what I mean..." He had never before heard her refer to any difference between her "family" and a more conventional, biological one. He frowned momentarily, realizing that he ought to have paid more attention to what had been going on between them recently–the timing was rotten, as focused as he needed to be on CI at the moment... "but whatever you need, Logan–I can help with this...whatever it is..."

He chewed his lip, wanting to keep her out of this one, for reasons he couldn't fathom other than a sense that he didn't want her seeing any more Cale dirty laundry than she already had. Just when he needed to give all his attention to this, here was Max, offering to be there for him...and telegraphing her concern that he was pulling away... "Thanks, Max, but with this one...I think I need to just keep poking around a bit..."

"Okay..." she wasn't convinced, but conceded for the moment. How cold _had_ he been to elicit such acquiescence from her? "So how about if I come over and kick your ass at some chess?"

Timing, he repeated to himself, his timing had really gotten lousy of late... "Sorry, Max...Bennett's coming over any minute, and will be here a while, I think..."

"Is he doing alright with this?" Again, honest concern. He suddenly wished he could throw off the guilty responsibility gnawing at him and just spend the evening with Max...

The doorbell rang, and he cursed, inwardly. "I'm not sure–but I'll probably know in a bit; he's here." He wavered. "Max, look..." What could he say in ten seconds that wouldn't just make things worse? He began, awkwardly, to push toward the door, phone held precariously between rocking shoulder and ear. "I'll call you when I know something, alright?" He grimaced, then. Wasn't that a line he'd used too often to blow her off?

"Okay–look–just be careful...and...if you need..." She paused, uncharacteristically.

"I know, Max; thank you." He stopped, giving her his full attention. "I just need to do this. It.." How could he say it wouldn't be long, when _he_ didn't know? "It's family...I know you know about that." He sighed for everything that had gone before... and for having to delay what he felt might be growing between them now, all for this sense of duty, because he too was a Cale. "Thanks for the offer of help."

"Just a page away," she promised, a bit more hopeful than she'd been at the start.

"I know--it makes things easier to face" he conceded. They ended their call before Logan moved again, pushing off quickly to get the door. He opened it to find Bennet, appearing a bit lost, still harried, and very, very strained, as he looked up to meet Logan's gaze. "C'mon in," Logan pulled back to let him pass, shutting the door behind him. "I'm sorry you had to come out on a night like this..."

"No, it's my fault for avoiding you all this time."

Logan tipped his chin toward the kitchen, and moved in its direction. "What can I get you–a drink? Or I have a fresh pot of coffee, just made..."

"Anticipating a long night?" Bennett's voice was edged with sarcasm, before he relented to admit, "Damn, Logan, they're all long nights now." Bennett wiped his hand tiredly over his eyes, a gesture any of Logan's friends would recognize as remarkably familiar. "Coffee's good" he managed, and was quiet for a moment, watching his cousin negotiate his kitchen smoothly, coping...he found his voice again. "I owe you an apology for blowing up at you the other day...and for blowing you off since. I shouldn't have let it get to the point where you thought it was because I was angry at you...and never should have let it go so far that you had to sit outside, freezing in the rain, to get me to talk to you."

"I was running out of options" Logan lifted his eyebrow and nudged a little, his tone prodding for his cousin to relax. But it seemed to make Bennet more morose.

"Well–I feel bad that I let it go so long, that you felt compelled...especially..." He paused, clearly uncomfortable. When Logan shrugged, not getting it, Bennett acknowledged, "Look, I know that with a spinal cord injury, you can have problems with maintaining your body's temperature."

"How'd you know that?" Logan looked up, again surprised and affected by his cousin's apparent concern. He handed Bennett a mug of steaming coffee.

Bennett looked a bit self-conscious. "When you were injured, I realized that I had no idea–beyond the obvious, of course–what it meant for you. None of us did. Things exactly like this, tonight, how you could have been risking hypothermia for what you just did..."

Watching closely to see if he'd somehow offended his older cousin, Bennett saw instead a light of gratitude in Logan's eyes. "So far, I haven't seemed to have much of a problem with that. It would be more likely if my injury had been higher." He was silent a moment, then looked back into Bennett's eyes. "I appreciate your being concerned enough to look it into it."

"It's what _you_ would have done, had the tables been reversed." Bennett said immediately.

"Ah, but then, I'm the family research geek, remember?" Logan shrugged it away. "But you did it, out of concern..." He trailed again, the thought of this one, remaining family thread comforting. "I appreciate the thought." He tipped his head toward the living room and lifted his own mug toward Bennett in silent question. Taking the second mug without speaking, Bennett went on into the dimly lit front room, Logan following. They were quiet for long moments, Bennett clearly unsettled but wanting to talk...and Logan didn't have too long a wait...

"Logan, I don't know if I can do this" he admitted for the first time since he'd found himself at the helm of the endangered company. "The Board is meeting tomorrow–three hours before the funeral. I wonder if _that's_ supposed to mean something" he sighed. "We're barely intact–the Feds have taken all the files...I had hoped that the other contracts we have, some of the other products, along with the new stuff we had working in R & D–there were some really terrific new applications, Logan; the guys had some new medical technology they were developing that could have grown into a whole new division– all that might have been enough to keep us going with some belt tightening, even if the whole hoverdrone line had to shut down. But they took everything..."

"What if we could get some of it back, the stuff we need?"

Bennett looked at his cousin more closely, having heard the pronoun that slipped out before Logan realized it had. "I spoke with Mason yesterday, he doesn't think we can."

"Do you really want to depend on Mason's counsel?" The company's in-house lawyer had done little but pull a sizeable check in recent years, having little need to acquaint himself with postPulse law, in light of the protection Cale Industries had from the government seeking to keep its drone-supplier happy. "I called a couple people I know and I have an idea–not terribly palatable, but if it keeps us in business..."

"What–bankruptcy?"

Logan nodded, wondering again that Jonas had assumed Bennett wasn't perceptive. "Think about it. Apparently government lockouts like this are a big reason that there have been so many postPulse Chapter 11 hardship applications, and the amendments specifically address company assets being impounded as ours were. It certainly seems justified in the circumstances." Like all the Cales, Logan and Bennett had been weaned on basic business law, discussed at the family dinner table the way other families shared the day's events or school lessons. As a result, the complex provisions of the tax code weren't quite as foreign to them as to most. "The trustee asserts the right to retake unrelated assets, the government actually has to give some credible justification to holding onto whatever non-monetary assets they want to keep– and we get an immediate twelve month protected freeze on further intrusion. Can you do much with these other projects in a year?"

Bennett nodded, a hopeful look in his eyes now. "A lot, I think. I'd wondered about doing this, too–you think it could work?" He breathed.

"I did even before I knew how much was going on aside from the 'drones" Logan nodded. "Are any of these projects dependent on either the technology or the hardware in the 'drones, on the chip or anything?"

"A few–but not the majority. And the chip is protected, you know; we have the patent, and the schematics aren't in the public domain..."

"We have a _government_ patent, and they have a copy of the plans. No reason to think that the Feds can't tromp through that stuff at will. The privacy provisions we used to have are worthless, so we can't assume we have any salvageable assets there..."

Bennett snorted softly in a humorless laugh, and said, "You forget that you haven't spent much time on the inside, especially the last few years..." He drew a long sip of his coffee. "One of the Cale tricks of doing business, I learned a while ago, took a lesson from the Cale family matriarchy–when you pass on a requested recipe, you change the ingredient list–not enough to catch much attention, but enough to ensure that anyone trying to duplicate your efforts won't get exactly what _you_ cooked up. Heaven forbid anyone be as good as a Cale at something..." He stared at his coffee, musing, then looked up. "Who'd've thought that such an approach might end up saving the company?"

Logan actually began to grin at the thought. "So the Feds can't make a 'drone?"

"Not with the filed plans–and from what R & D tells me, without the correct plans it will be pretty tough, given what and how they changed things, to find the precise combination of technology to make it work as it should."

Logan's eyebrows flickered up, imaging the end of the drones altogether. He also imagined the day when he and Bennett might disagree about manufacturing new ones...but that wasn't for now. "So what's the plan for the Board Meeting?"

"I think they want to put CI on the market. It would be a way to recoup something from the company–a few dollars for the property, the buildings and fixtures have some value to a variety of businesses..." He shook his head "but in this economy we'd get a tenth of its value, if that."

Logan studied the weary face. "Bennett–do _you_ want to sell?"

He shook his head slowly. "I know I can make it work–maybe not as wealthy a company it was when..." he wavered slightly "when Jonas got into some things he shouldn't...but a _healthy_ one. I want to try to keep it alive." Logan saw that there was more, and waited...after a few moments Bennett conceded, "Don't you remember what Granddad used to talk about, how we had a responsibility, that with the money and the advantages we had, we had to pass some of that on? He meant to the employees, the community... not just to our family or our own pockets."

Logan nodded, eyebrows lifting. "I'd been thinking about that too, this week."

Bennett signed. "Every time Jo...my father" he corrected "...went on about the bottom line, wanting to cut jobs or salaries...I kept hearing Grandfather's voice." Bennett's eyes fell. "I just wish I'd had the backbone to act on it, months ago."

"You may not be able to go back–but nothing's stopping us from trying now. I'm in, whatever you want to do."

Bennett looked back up. "You'll vote with me, to file?"

"Yes–and I want to come back to the company..."

"What? You hated..."

"I hated what was going on –when other people were in charge." Logan looked at his cousin, levelly. "I can help, Bennett. Look, I don't need to be there forever. But if they see it's the two of us, keeping an eye on things...and I have a few contacts who might be helpful with getting us back on track." Bennett eyed him a bit skeptically, curious, and Logan added, "I promise I won't be in your way. And I'd like to work with the R& D guys; maybe I can take that portion and save you some time."

Bennett relaxed into a rueful grin. "You were always better at the science of it all than I was. You could probably save everyone time by understanding what they say and translating it for me so I can get it." He sobered. "Logan, are you sure you want to do this? You never were one for offices, anyway...and I know you've been pretty well holed up here, since you were hurt..." His family had been convinced he was practically a housebound invalid, rarely venturing out, and Logan hadn't worked very hard to change their minds. It made his covert identity even less likely to be discovered by them. However, at the moment, he felt bad that he'd let Bennett believe it, too.

"I want in, Bennett–we can do it–you can do it, and the Board needs to see that the majority shareholders are together on this. I'll give you the final vote in it all; you know the company and you're willing to make it your life, even if I don't stay forever. But I can help– and I want to be there to do what I can." He wavered, and acknowledged, "You realize that, alone, you might be blown off, the young upstart –and that Jonas minimized you enough in the Board's eyes that maybe my coming back in will help give them more to think about?" His eyes sparkled as he added, "a Cale's a Cale, isn't that what Granddad said–even if it's a shot-up, Bohemian journalist-wannabe Cale, trying to fit back into the family business?"

Bennett chuckled, "Yeah, he said that too." With a pause, then a chuckled sigh, Bennett grinned again, more hopeful than he'd been in several days. "Let's plan our take-over..."

**CALE INDUSTRIES: 8:05 AM**

Rising to his feet, a far stronger, focused Bennett Cale faced the eleven seated around the table before him. Their chatter abated; their faces carried varying looks of expectation, hope...and, he noted, skepticism. However, what might have given him pause before left him undaunted, with Logan's presence and belief in what they were about to accomplish. "Ladies and gentlemen..." he began, having asked the Board president for an immediate audience. "First things first. I believe most of you know my cousin, Logan Cale, also a grandson of our founder– and son of Logan, Sr., who was the principal reason Cale Industries became as well respected as it..." he paused, glancing at his cousin, who sat with him at the head of the table, looking solemn in his newly tailored dark suit, ordered only days before when Logan faced the fact he no longer had a suit that could pass muster for Jonas' funeral. Logan's presence inspired him–and gave him strength. With a final, private note of amusement at the strong jaw, clean shaven for the first time in years, Bennett faced the room and dared, "...as it _used_ to be–as we intend it to be in the future. Logan has agreed to come back to CI, during this crisis– and help get us through it. And as together, he and I hold fifty seven percent of the stock–ultimately, we'll be proceeding as we see fit. So my suggestion is this, under the circumstances: we table the remaining matters and adjourn for today–many of us have a funeral to attend. Logan and I will have a plan for you to consider within in the week. We can meet again a week from today, at this time."

The room was still; breaths held...moments passed...until a voice in the back, a quiet, middle aged voice, asked, "All in favor?"

Logan blinked a bit in surprise that it had been so easy, and wondered if before the meeting, his cousin might have found a sympathetic Board member to call for this vote. Nonetheless, he still breathed a sigh of relief once the 'ayes' were heard rippling around the table. He felt not only another surprise, but a bit of Bennett's strength himself, when no "nays" were heard when solicited. Whether those abstaining were skeptics merely too timid to go out on that limb, or silent partners in his uncle's schemes not willing to announce themselves yet, Logan felt a flush of victory as he looked up to see Bennett's eyes flash toward him with a look of determined success. He nodded imperceptibly to his cousin as the woman's voice spoke one last time.

"The 'ayes' have it...meeting adjourned..."

–_To be continued– _


	4. The Eyes of a Stranger

_**DISCLAIMER:** Still not mine; still no profit._

_**THANKS TO ALL STOPPING BY. **It's been hard since FFN has been sick lately, so those of you who have hung tough have my gratitude. All comments are welcomed–each one is enlightening._

**JAM PONY: 1:00 PM**

As usual, the open common areas of Jam Pony was a contained hubbub of riders moving in and out of the open entry, Normal barking at passing employees, the ever-present droning of the TV, waiting messengers eating and talking and passing the time...

And Sketchy was working a new scam. "Max, all I'm saying is that you could help me with this; all of you guys can; just a few extra hours a week and we could set up..."

"Geez, Sketchy, didn't you learn your lesson the last time you tried freelancing? It didn't work..." Max tore open a small bag of peanuts she pulled from her bag and straddled a chair at the small table. "And I thought we agreed...

"Max..."

The voice half registered as Max was warming up her ire with her hapless co-worker, Cindy's interruption not stopping her yet. "...that you weren't going to..."

"_Max."_ Original Cindy had a tone of voice that was a serious-up, no foolin' voice that Max heard now from her roommate, across the table. Max stopped abruptly and looked at the drawn brow, a question on her face. "You want to watch this..." Cindy said, low.

Max followed Cindy's eyes up to the television, seeing a local news reporter standing in front of Cale Industries. She was speaking. "...is being laid to rest today after being found in his palatial home last Tuesday, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds. Authorities are still investigating, but confidential sources report that Jonas Cale, CFO of Cale Industries, may have been murdered by a hoverdrone manufactured by his own company. The connection of these "Killer 'Drones" to Cale Industries and the string of homicides occurring in Seattle over the past few weeks was first reported by the pirate journalist 'Eyes Only' in his most recent broadcast. Immediately thereafter, Federal Marshals seized Cale Industries and placed it in investigative lock-down. Until its assets were seized pending investigation into its connection with the seven recent killings, the company was one of the region's largest employers..."

Max watched, grimly. This was actually pretty tame a report, as compared to some of the crap that had been spread by the media since Logan's hack. Big company, Big family...Big news. The daily publicity, not only in the business reports but the headline news and even in the society and gossip pages, dramatized to Max just what a Big Deal Logan's family really was...somehow it hadn't really sunk in before. Maybe it was Logan himself. For all her teasing about his pampered background, she began to suspect that she hadn't really had much of an idea what it was really like for him. And the media seemed to obsess in reporting every little twist and turn in the events about the toppling empire. Why so much focus on reporting their ruin?

"Acting CFO Bennett Cale today also laid to rest the now persistent rumors that Cale Industries would be sold." The scene cut away from the reporter to Logan's cousin Bennett, speaking at a podium toward several extended microphones. " Cale Industries is not for sale. We will continue to work through this investigation and will conduct business as normally as the authorities will allow us, including the return of as many employees as possible back to their jobs. I would also like to announce at this time that Logan Cale, the grandson of our founder, will be joining Cale Industries as its new Vice President of Research and Development..."

"_...what?..._" Max gasped.

The actress-model-news reader was back. "This may be an ambitious project. While the Federal Marshals declined to speak on the record, a confidential source in the department expressed skepticism that there was enough of the company not under seizure for the company to continue..."

"Boo, did I hear what I thought I heard?" Cindy's eyes were as big as Max's, focused back on her now as the story ended. "What the hell is he getting himself into?"

She shook her head, too drawn in by events to wait for her answers. "I have no idea, but I'm going to go find out. Cover for me...?"

"Sure, but Max...the reporter said they're still out at the cemetery, now..."

"Yeah, I know." She nodded grimly. "This way I know where to find him."

**CALE FAMILY MAUSOLEUM:** **1:25 PM**

She had been here before once, when she had gone looking for Logan, thinking he'd paged her for a mission, and had stumbled on him at the foot of his parents' vaults. He'd explained that the entire building was used for Cale family members' burial, something that still struck her as odd...but certainly that would be where Jonas would be interred. She managed to move through the two checkpoints on the way without much wait, and made her way quickly to the cemetery.

Riding silently up to the marble building along a drive packed with cars, a shiny dark hearse immediately in front of the building, Max saw a man standing sideways in the entry of the tomb, addressing both some unseen people inside, as well as the crowd around the entry, far larger than could fit in the small building. She didn't see Logan but saw his Aztek, almost not recognizing it, now sparkling clean with a gleaming coat of wax, surprising enough that she came along and peered inside to see the hand controls that convinced her he really had gotten his car washed. Still hidden back behind the vehicles, she crouched down to listen to the cursory, unfelt words putting Jonas to rest. Following the brief ritual, she waited as onlookers wandered in and out of the marble entry, she presumed in order to speak with the family. She thought she heard Logan's voice once or twice, speaking softly, briefly. And she waited...

After forty five minutes Logan finally appeared, moving slowly out of the mausoleum–and Max stared at the next surprise–just like his Aztek, Logan was cleaned and shiny and...striking...

He was dressed in a suit that had to be new, rich and expensive and clearly tailored just for him. With tie and crisp white shirt–monogrammed cuffs, she gaped, silently–his appearance gave complete credence to the announcement that he was a newly appointed Vice President at his family's company. And the most stunning change of all–

Logan Cale. Clean shaven.

It must be the end of the world...

Max stood up from where she'd crouched behind his car. Almost everyone had left, and they could talk in relative quiet. Max started to come around to meet him as he'd approach. But just as she started to step from behind the car, she saw her.

Daphne. Stepping outside from the dusk of the mausoleum. Stepping from inside to out, to Logan's shoulder, to drop a soft, understanding hand on his shoulder and look down sweetly to meet his eyes as he looked up to her, to speak so softly Max didn't catch it and to nod as Logan agreed, briefly covering her hand on his shoulder with his, moving and talking as if they'd been at it for a while, an extended conversation that day...or even longer?

Max dropped back, out of sight, a hot flush burning across her cheeks, moving back further to be hidden away from his car. Daphne? With Logan? Just old friends, or was there more...? Wasn't she 'on the all girl team ' like Cindy? Max drew a breath to steady her thoughts and force herself to imagine all the _logical_ explanations, and not to hear the lifting, feminine voice complimenting Logan's new suit and clean shaven face, talking about visitors they both knew, laughing gently, remembering old times. Max tried to remember if Logan said their families knew each other...

...and tried not to feel the unfamiliar stab of inexplicable pain she felt at seeing Daphne let herself into _her_ side of Logan's Aztek, into the passenger seat...

**AZTEK INTERIOR 2:15 PM**

It had been at the funeral that Daphne had first spoken to Logan, who felt some relief at seeing an old friend–one for whom he might relax the facade just a little. She had come for Margo; Logan's aunt had actually been one of her first patrons as she embarked on her local career as artist, and she honestly appreciated the new business Margo Cale's interest had generated among the monied gentry remaining in Seattle. When it was determined that the cemetery would have limited parking, Logan offered her a ride; he found that even an old girlfriend who inexplicably dumped him was more comfortable than the rest of the crowd, and appreciated the breather her presence allowed him. They now rode on to the wake, at his aunt's house. Logan relaxed again, out of the scrutiny of the Cale Social Set...

"You know..." Daphne started, wryly. "You look a lot different than the last time I saw you."

"Last time I wasn't trying to pass..."

"And now you have to play their games?" At his rueful shrug, she asked, "What are you doing here in all this, Logan? Is this for real? It's not you, at all."

"I want to help Bennett get things back on track, if I can."

"I'm sure you can–but you'll hate every minute."

He shrugged again. ""_Qua nocent docent_'" he managed a smile. "Remember your Latin?"

"Enough to know you're the same Logan Cale, stubble-less chin or not." She paused. "You doing okay with all this? You look as if you've been stretched a bit thin."

"Well, yeah, but it will work out." He sighed, and began to realize that Daphne might be a valuable source of information he'd need to do this. After a moment, he asked, honestly, "How do I get back into this 'set,' Daphne? As much as I hate to think about it, I might need some of the contacts this crowd can manage."

She smiled, wryly. "Well...it just so happens there's a gathering, tomorrow night, at the Pier...everyone who's anyone in all the 'right' circles is supposed to be attending." Her voice carried a flirtatious fun, the same Daphne he remembered from their years at Yale. "And I have an invitation, for myself and a guest... I could very much benefit having as my guest a handsome, eligible bachelor– a male one– especially with the 'Cale' name–as I sell myself as the artist of the moment." She watched him process the information. "Think you could be ready to do your own schmoozing by then?'

"Yeah, sure..." A perfect opportunity, he saw immediately. But guilt clouded the perfect picture... guilt for what she might be thinking...guilt that he'd far prefer to have Max at his side...and even more guilt at his realization that no matter how beautiful or brilliant or talented she might be, Max did _not_ have the subtleties and secret sly tricks needed to really pass as one of these shallow socialites–how could she? This world was too far removed from the one in which she'd fought to survive for her to pick up the elusive but integral nuances...and these vultures would spot all but the most able ringer.

Thank God she was not one of them.

But Daphne was. And Daphne, volunteering to be his companion at this affair, could be invaluable. As long as she understood...

"...it would be great; thanks," he continued. " But you realize, though, it's just...a business arrangement, between us, mutual benefit, right? I mean...I'm not..."

She smiled broadly, understanding...and asked softly...kindly... "How _is_ Max?"

Flustered, he tried to cover, "She's fine, but that's..." he stammered. "We're not..." He glanced over to see Daphne's gently amused expression, and capitulated. "She still shares a place with Original Cindy" he finally lifted an eyebrow and glanced back to her, to see her laugh, easily.

"Really." She sat back, musing, then admitted, "I'd like to see Cindy again. I'm hoping for maybe three or four new contracts, a couple months to get the work started...and then I'll have less need to keep the closet door closed."

Logan grinned at her admission, and glanced over to her. "You know...I always wondered..." She just looked back at him, sweetly, and let him squirm. "When you decided...you know... that a wedding wasn't such a good idea..." He glanced back, raising his eyebrows. "Was it...?"

"Sorry sweetie...but yes...I met another woman." Her eyes twinkled at the conversation.

"You could have told me..."

"Honestly, do you think it would have made it better–or worse?"

He opened his mouth to answer, thought about it, and closed it abruptly, with a smirk. "Good point." As he rounded the curve into his aunt's estate, he added. "I _am_ glad you're here, even if you can't stay long. And I'd like to go with you tomorrow night, just tell me when and where to be."

"I'll call you tomorrow on that." She looked out at the cars lining the street for the wake of the season. "Looks as if you'll get a start here...all the movers and shakers are here, Logan. Or will be."

"Scary thought, isn't it?" He pulled up into the round drive and portico, where, he'd been assured, the valet service knew to leave his car. "You'd think Jonas had been a decent human being or something..."

**FOGLE TOWERS 9:10 PM**

Logan sat in his darkened, quiet penthouse, staring out at the skyline before him. He felt angry, sickened...driven. He hadn't been home too long; the wake turned into a large, formal dinner and everyone insisted he stay, for his aunt; he was family...

The evening had become an exercise in self-control, as he suffered the insults, taunts and smirks shoveled on Jonas and piled on Cale Industries by the coiffed, polished snobs of Seattle who, the week before, were clamoring to be aligned with them. Even as Jonas' 'friends' came to pay their respects they attacked him inside phony sympathy and insincere words, dumped on the family and the company, moving on to malign even Logan's father and grandfather, the more vulgar of them, watching for a chink in the younger Cale's veneer. They amused themselves with the mighty falling, even those who still held Cale stock and therefore suffering their own losses along with his family...

All the while, Logan had to smile, accept what was thrown at him, playing the part of being one of them, of accepting the insults as just another part of this life...how could he have forgotten the viciousness with which these society mavens moved through their world? It was all a big part of why he left them all behind...

And now, afterward, it was as bad coming home, coming in to see the news reports, still gleefully reporting the company's demise and reveling in his family's humiliation. Why the enthusiasm for all the suffering? Why celebrate the downfall of a family when so many beyond the family suffered?

Whatever the reason, he glowered, he would move heaven and earth to clear his family's name and restore whatever dignity to them he could, to restore jobs and benefits to those to whom they owed a duty of dependable employment and investment return. Bennett truly believed he could do it honestly, with apple cheeked sincerity; Logan had begun to suspect that to clean up the corruption tainting the company he might have to stoop to a bit of corruption himself–without Bennett –or anyone else– knowing he did so. Certainly for the dark trio who appeared on the videotapes and who oversaw the hoverdrone modifications...without knowing more he was still convinced that they were malevolent. And he just couldn't shake the feeling they were Manticore...

For a few minutes, too, like Bennett, he'd believed that he could do this honestly, following the rules, showing everyone that they were above what business had become in this postPulse world, showing them that the Cales of this generation would save the company. But after all, he had spent the past few years stealing and lying and cheating in his crusades as Eyes Only–hadn't he? Did it matter _why_ he did it? Maybe he _was_ closer to being Jonas than he ever admitted to himself, any means to his desired end...it was not always true that the end justified the means...

He tried to breathe out the anger and blackness. It didn't work...

Max eased into the darkened rooms, quietly even for her. In the dim light through the window, her naturally endowed night vision made him out clearly as he sat, staring out at the night, still in the expensive suit pants and serious shoes, his jacket cast off casually across a chair, his tie loosened and top button open. But the crisp shirt was still pristine, the crease in his pants and shine on his shoes still perfect...and clean shaven, monogrammed, Logan Cale looked distant and aloof. A stranger...she swallowed the feeling of dread tickling the nape of her neck.

"Hey..." she dared, in a small voice. "Where've you been?" Her eyes flickered back along the elegant fabrics he wore, the rich weave of the light wool gabardine trousers...the crisp white cotton of his shirt...she found herself aching to touch them, to touch _him_...oh, and to touch his cheek, to trace the now smooth skin...

"Jonas' funeral" he said tightly, not looking at her. He was cold, strained...like a light had snuffed out inside of him, not unaware of her, but unable to connect.

She shivered, remembering the light that had been in his eyes with Daphne that afternoon... "Well, yeah, I know, but, I mean...all week. All day." Not so very long ago, the light had been for her...he'd known her better than she knew herself; attuned to her, always so focused on her safety and sensitive to her moods and needs...up until a week ago she felt at times it was too much, too attentive...but in the past days she realized how she craved his care and missed his concern...she'd come to feel she was losing her contact with him. And when she saw Daphne with him earlier that day, Max began to fear she'd lost him already... She came around to stand before him, to the side a little, not blocking his view. "It's been a while since you've blown up my pager" she tried, tentatively.

"I've had a lot to do, with the company..." His voice was flat, controlled. He continued to stare out the window.

"Yeah, Logan, what's with all that? You're going in as a Vice President, and of the division that created the hoverdrones?" She shook her head, not understanding. "You _want_ Cale Industries to survive?"

"Of course, yes..." His voice was terse, rippling in its bottled anger. "It's Bennett's future, Marianne's... it's food and shelter to over eight hundred workers and retirement money to aging investors..."

"Logan, why are you doing this? " She demanded. "There are other jobs...other investments. If you let it die, Logan, maybe the 'drones will die with it..." _And you'll be free of this hold it has on you..._ "Maybe it's better to let it go..."

"And my family's name, with it?" his voice was bitter. "...you can't know what it's like, every time you put on the news or pick up a paper, to see your name gleefully dragged through the mud ...you can't know how much worse it is to know that it's your fault..."

"...it's not _your_ fault, Logan; it was your uncle and..."

"Oh, no Max, you can't change your tune now" He finally looked up to her, his eyes carrying all the blame and demanding that she tell him she'd told him so. "You tried to warn me what would happen if Eyes Only outed the company–maybe you just warned me about the money, but I didn't listen–and because of me, countless people lost their jobs and retirement accounts...my cousin is ruined...my father's name..." his voice broke; his fist clenched. "I have to go back to the company...I owe them that."

"Why do you assume that you can do something Bennet–or his brothers–can't?" she demanded. "Why are you the only one who can fix things?"

"Because I'm the only Cale left alive who's been an outlaw" he said darkly. "Someone has to be there who will be willing to do whatever it takes...Jonas got them into this mess...I'm the only one left like Jonas who is willing to do whatever it takes..."

"You're nothing like Jonas, Logan" she urged, "you're no more capable of doing the wrong thing..." she urged, seeing the toll this was taking on him.

"I sure have the track record of it" he glowered, staring at unseen demons. "Theft... wiretaps... computer hacks and break ins... Maybe it's time I admit it and do what I need to do to make things right. That would be fitting, don't you think?"

And when he looked back up at her, Max found she was looking into the eyes of a stranger...

_**...to be continued...**_


	5. Eyes of Hope, Eyes of Help

_**DISCLAIMER:** See all disclaimers to date. If things had changed, and I were in charge, DA's TV season 3 would be filming at this very moment–and the 1st episode would be Kyre's explanation of the travesty that was S2!_

_**THANKS FOR THE INTEREST **and the comments, ideas, suggestions, and nits. Even back-seat driving welcomed on this bus..._

**FOGLE TOWERS, 8:45 A.M.**

He hadn't heard her leave...

Logan made his way into the kitchen to start some coffee, guilt gnawing at his chest...he hadn't really expected her to stay–he'd be a cad to even think she might, after his self-indulgent behavior–but he wished Max would have stayed, or pressed the issue, or...

_Or what? Kiss it and make it better?_ That _was_ it, after all; he wanted her to do what he was unable to do–shake him from this crusade. He was being all noble and driven and knew that he could not voluntarily leave that path, it was his responsibility to keep moving forward until the company was fixed and these killers discovered...but he'd wanted her to force him away, wanted some divine intervention to turn him from his course and let him rest...

_Oh, damn it, Max, you can't imagine how desperately I want to just..._

_...just what?_ he sneered back at himself. What had he told her, told_himself_, those months ago? _"...maybe we got screwed out of living in a time when we could hang out for the afternoon in a cafe someplace wearing $2,000 wristwatches, planning our next vacation, but the world got a whole lot meaner all of a sudden..."_

It didn't mean he wasn't exhausted sometimes...didn't mean that he didn't want to give up and give in, and just be with the woman who had captured his soul... And it didn't always mean that the 'law of the jungle' required _him_ to fix everything...

Max might have skills and abilities far beyond normal women, but mind reading wasn't one of her talents...was it? He'd never asked, exactly...

It couldn't be. Because if it was...

If it was, and she'd left anyway, after he coldly announced he was going to bed and left her alone in his living room...if she'd read in his mind how desperately he wanted her to shake him from this mission and stay with him...

The water overflowing the carafe in the sink brought Logan back to the present. Heavily, he poured some of it into the machine to make half a pot, and shoved on to check messages and news updates from the night before. As long as it was a jungle...especially when his own family added to its ruthlessness–he would have to force his own desires into second place. He had a job to do...and, he glanced at the time, an informant–_an employee_, he corrected himself–to meet. Some things take precedence, he insisted, stubbornly. But maybe...if he was very, very lucky...the world would someday get a little better...and Max might still be around to share it with him...

**CORNER COFFEE, 10:50 A.M.**

Logan made his way into the quiet coffee shop near the university, one he had used with some frequency to meet certain informants and pass on information. The owner-counter attendant, Rose, was an Eyes Only informant, one who could be trusted not to remember anything about Logan's meetings. He got a fast wink from her as he came past toward a table, while she served an oblivious customer at the counter.

Logan had been in the R & D labs several times that week, after his official return to Cale Industries. Both with employees present and without, he had gone through what materials and files remained. He'd watched as the skeleton crew he'd managed to call back in worked to clean up the damage the intruders had caused, and surprised a few of them when he pitched in to help. He directed them to assess what they had left and where things stood with their projects, and did a bit of assessment of his own.

As he saw it, his mission there was two fold: first, he was there to do what he could to help CI get back on track, maybe to help it develop new, more noble projects that would provide security to its employees and an honest, beneficial help to society...

_...what planet did you land from, Cale?_ his thoughts suddenly jeered..._what makes you think that anyone is left to buy **helpful** products anymore? The only ones with cash are those vipers at Aunt Margo's last night...if it isn't something to make them more money or let them control others, it won't fly..._

He forced the bitter inner monologue to a back corner of his mind as he agreed to the coffee Rose offered from across the shop. He _had_to believe in something or he'd lose any grip on himself he still had... He turned his thoughts to the medical technology the R & D staff had told him about that week. Clearly more close to his heart these days, the sort of assistive and adaptive biotechnology they explored was as hopeful a sign as he'd ever seen from CI. He had to grab onto that, and maybe he could believe half as strongly as Bennett did that CI could be of service to the community...

But the other part of his mission–the part more pressing–was to discover who–and what–was behind the killer 'drones the company had created. Despite their efforts, Logan had a set of file records and plans retrieved from the back up files in Zurich. They'd left more questions than answers, but at least Logan now had a time frame, some production notes and engineering specs, a development plan–and a working knowledge of just how vast, advanced–and sinister–the project truly was...

And both parts of the mission would be addressed today, he hoped...

As he accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Rose, Logan heard the door and looked up to see Jake Whiting appear, offering an awkward smile and small wave. He nodded in his direction and said to Rose, "I'll get his, too, whatever he'd like." He watched the woman meet Jake on his way over then move back toward the counter as Jake neared the table.

"Hi, Jake. Thanks for coming..."

"Yes, sir..." Jake was a senior project designer but relatively young for that, in his late twenties. He'd been one of those geeks as a kid, starting college at fifteen, with a masters degree in engineering and biotechnology by the time he was twenty one. He'd been at CI ever since, Logan had seen in his file, overlooked because he was quiet despite his impressive work, especially when developing projects of his own, beyond those assigned by the company. Logan had need of someone from the inside, someone who might be willing to share information, and he chose Jake just as he would have chosen among potential informants for Eyes Only. Bright, unassuming... overlooked... aware that so much more could be done... How long would it take him to figure out that he'd been called to meet Logan in a place where there would be no fear of any hidden bugs or cameras nearby?

"I'm not 'sir,' I'm Logan–okay?" He watched the man stand at the table, awkward in front of the new boss, not knowing what to expect. "Grab a seat..." Logan suggested, both for Jake's ease and his own, so he might be able to converse, eye to eye, with the man. "I appreciate your meeting me like this...I thought it might be more comfortable, meeting away from the office. And especially on a Saturday, it was good of you to take the time. Maybe you could trade it for another day, when you want a three day weekend..."

"Nah, it's okay–I used to go in Saturdays, sometimes, anyway" Jake tried to smile, still nervous. "I could do more on my own stuff, then." He glanced up to murmur his thanks as Rose came over with coffee for him, and a pot for the table.

Logan offered his thanks too–she left the pot so they might converse, undisturbed. He looked back to Jake and nodded, taking the opening. "That was one of the things I wanted to ask you about–it looks like you had several good ideas going for development–the nanotechnology you were proposing for prosthetics connections ...and that device that could replace the neuro and cardiac pacemakers that have limited lifespans...why didn't you get them into production, at least at the prototype stage?"

Jake looked away, not sure how to say it without risking the Cale ire. "Well, I ..." he stammered, "I think they just decided it wasn't something they wanted to develop; they were leaning more toward the military stuff and the only biotech development they wanted from me were those things that would have military application–you know, like for soldiers in combat...or... biochemical warfare..."

Logan felt a chill...not that, too? He swallowed, "Have you...developed...?"

"Oh, no, nothing yet..." Jake spoke quickly, reassuring him. _This_ Cale continued to surprise him: the man seemed decent, appreciated his work...and went dead pale at the mention of bio-warfare agents. Jake dared to start to relax a little...and even began to hope that CI might have been averted from its dangerous path just in time... "They–Mr. Cale– your uncle, not Mr. Bennett–and Mr. Neal–they had just started planning another phase of the contract they had to develop the hoverdrones. I guess the same people who asked for the identification technology wanted to develop some chemical agents..."

Logan's thoughts were racing. Maybe everything had been stopped here in the nick of time–but he was not the least bit convinced that those seeking such bio-fare agents would be discouraged from trying elsewhere... "Jake...did you ever see any of these people, the ones requesting these projects?"

"Not really...they really kept that contract apart from the others." At Logan's raised eyebrows, Jake explained, "It's not all that unusual, in companies doing government contract work, especially in weapons development, that sort of thing. If we were developing some new military technology, the project would be in a secured lab, only a few engineers or techs in on the work–you know, to cut down the risk of the information leaking out."

_Of course_, Logan thought. _I should have remembered..._

"So, you weren't in on any of that, the identification technology?" Logan thought he saw something flicker in the man's eyes, a thought... unauthorized information he'd obtained ..? Logan watched more closely as Jake spoke, uncomfortable again.

"No, that was all pretty much the optical guys; the 'drone was already developed and it was just a matter of developing the visual recognition and tying it in with the existing hardware..."

Logan wasn't sure what was making the man ill at ease, but needed to find out. "And these 'optical guys?' Were any of them here this week?"

Jake looked flat out nervous now; he licked his lips and looked away, finally shaking his head. "None of them were." He hesitated, then, looking up at his new boss, decided to trust him. He said, barely audibly, " I don't think they're around at all– "

Logan's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" Jake blinked, looking cornered; Logan knew the signs from years of meeting with whistle-blowers and insiders–Jake had admitted something big and now questioned his doing so. Logan backed off, slightly, and tried, "Look, Jake...if you think something has happened to them..." He considered the man before him, and realized he had to offer something in trust for the information he sought. _If Jake was trustworthy, he might have found an ally and invaluable source of information. If not, and he talked to the wrong people...well, those were the people he sought, weren't they? Maybe it would hurry things along... _Logan drew a deep breath to confess, "I'm back at CI to try and help the company get back on its feet, just as we announced–but_my_ main purpose is to try to find out what happened to my uncle–and what was going on at CI. I need to find out who these people are–and see if there's any way to stop them."

Jake shook his head quickly. "It's some kind of government project–unless you think you can take _them _on..."

Logan shrugged. "Maybe not directly. But sometimes, if they don't want their activities to become public, just letting them know _you_ know..."

"That's suicide..." Jake opined, flatly.

Logan was silent for the moment, unable to disagree. Finally, he shrugged, "Sometimes it can be done without tipping too much about where the information was found. Jake, if you can tell me what you know–as much as you can–maybe I can take it from there. No one will need to know where I got the information ." He watched the other man carefully, and decided to add, "If I can help your friends..."

Logan saw he'd guessed correctly; there was definitely a reaction at that. Jake hesitated...squirmed a little...then said in a whisper, "Speculation was that they were offered a pay-off–and a relocation across the border–to leave and forget what they'd been doing. But I think..." he paused again, the idea sounding paranoid and outlandish when he thought of putting it into words. "...I think they might have been–disappeared."

Logan frowned. "By the people who ordered the 'drones?"

Jake nodded. "They were behind your uncle's death, weren't they? If they're going to be so public in killing him, using a prototype that _only_ CI could have–why would they be squeamish about eliminating the two employees working on the project?"

"Excellent point" Logan conceded, mind racing ahead. "Only two working on it?"

Jake nodded. "Project engineer, Rick Collins, and his tech, Karrie Myers."

"Did you know them well?"

"Rick, pretty well. He was here when I started, seven years ago. A good guy. Karrie..." He paused, fidgeted. "We dated a couple times. She wasn't supposed to be talking about the project but..." Jake shrugged, "well...you know..." Jake glanced up to the green eyes, getting approval, and went on, "She told me maybe ten days ago that the project was suddenly taken from them and moved out, presumably to the customer's place." His eyes saw past Logan to the memory. "It was only about two days ago that she and Rick learned what the project was being used for. Their prototypes had carried additional cameras as the extra weight for the tests–they didn't know about the guns until Rick stumbled on to the testing they'd been doing, with the parolees being killed. A couple of those men were killed even while they still had the project at CI..." Jake remembered how upset Karrie had been, at that. "Rick showed Karrie...and she told me" Jake clearly feared the worst. "Then suddenly, Karrie said they were offered some great package to relocate over the border, a fantastic job at a lab they were developing, supposedly they were going to have all the highest tech stuff available, plenty of time for research..." His words were bitter now, "I think somehow they caught on to the fact that Rick and Karrie knew–and there wasn't really a job in Canada...just a story to explain why they weren't around any more."

Logan nodded, quiet for the moment, outwardly respectful of the man's loss...and hiding his thoughts, racing at the information. The guy might know something...and had strong reason to assist him in his investigation here...after a few more moments, Logan asked slowly...quietly... "Jake...did Karrie ever tell you much about the project, or the people there to check on it?" As Jake looked at him in question, Logan admitted, "I've seen surveillance tapes–there were three of them, two men and a woman, who stopped by several times over the past couple weeks. They were government?"

"I don't know. Or," he corrected, "Karrie didn't know. But–they acted like it. Actually, I hadn't ever seen that level of security there before–the only ones close were the secret services, clandestine branches, those sorts of groups." Jake stared at the tabletop, unseeing, remembering. "These guys...I think Rick spoke with them a couple times by phone, but no one _saw_ them, as far as I know; they came after hours–only the guard would have seen them, they had security at the lab 'round the clock."

"Jonas saw them..." Logan told him, "and Gilbert Neal..." He spoke slowly. "We know what happened with Jonas...and no one has seen Gil since then." Logan mulled over his next concern. "Is there any chance they know you suspect anything, or that Karrie spoke with you?"

"I don't know" Jake admitted, "I don't think so, but that's the scary thing about these guys–they're invisible. You get to ops that black–they have skills and technology we can't even guess. I just keep hoping the longer I go without hearing from them...the more likely it is that I'm clear."

Logan's brow clouded, worried for the unassuming man. "Look, if you're concerned...I have some contacts, I could help if you wanted to get away from here..."

"And go where?" Jake asked. "If they really want someone gone...it doesn't matter where you go..." He saw the pained look on Cale's face and relented–this man was trying to help, his boss, no less, a Cale who was trying to clean up the company. "But thanks. If I have some problems, or if it looks as if they caught on...maybe I'll change my mind."

Logan looked at him, levelly. "Deal." He agreed, softly. "And anything you remember, or if you think of anything that might be helpful..."

"Deal." Jake offered a wan smile.

"I'm glad you want to stick around, though" Logan lightened the topic, remembering his other purpose at CI. "As far as I'm concerned, you can start building those prototypes–on the projects you already pitched, or any you might have that you haven't proposed yet." He drained his coffee. "It's time for Cale Industries to do something positive for society–and your projects could help countless people. I'd like to see you have a chance to develop them."

"I appreciate that..."

"You're the only one back so far who was pursuing the biotech projects, aren't you?"

Jake nodded, "There were only three of us, anyway–and one left to move back east, when CI shut down..." He raised his eyebrow to make a pitch. "If you really want to pursue it, we could use another good bioengineer or two..."

Logan mused, an idea beginning. "I know of someone who might be enticed to join in your efforts– maybe just as an advisor, he's got a lot of irons in the fire. Still..." he smiled, "he has a particular affinity for assistive technology. A man of many talents...I'll put the two of you on the phone–see what you think about collaborating on some projects. It will be your call; I promise you that neither Sebastian nor I will think anything of it if you prefer to work alone."

"Sebastian Harrow? You know him?" Jake's eyes rounded. "You think he'd consult? They tried every year since I started at CI to bring him in, at least as a consultant. He always passed as too busy."

Logan smirked at the news. Why did it not surprise him that Sebastian was known in bioengineering circles...or that he'd been approached regularly by his family's company...or that he never mentioned it to Logan? "Well–maybe he'll be more interested if he understands that we'd like to pursue more high-minded research than was done here before."

"Maybe" Jake nodded...and Logan was suddenly aware that the man was considering the fact that both men were chair- dependent. He had paused, and, glancing up, he then asked, awkwardly, "Your... uh...wheelchair... an SCI?" At Logan's nod, he dared, "Complete, or...?"

"Complete." Logan anticipated the next response.

"Oh."

The silence was awkward before Logan spoke. "Look, Jake, I know all the recent research; if only I had a bit intact I could practically be up dancing." He waved it away, "It's old news."

"Well, maybe someday, huh?" Jake shrugged. "Maybe Cale Industries..."

"Maybe" Logan finally smiled a little. "Look, Jake–it's going to be a struggle, but we just might get CI back on the path. I appreciate your willingness to help–both with your projects–and the information. And the offer stands–if you ever suspect that you're in any sort of danger..."

"I'll remember. Thanks, Mr. Cale," the engineer nodded.

"Logan–remember that, too" Finally, after the week of such disappointment and ugliness, Logan had reason to hope. "I'm grateful for all of this, Jake–and I know Bennett will be, too, when he knows about your work. I won't say anything to him about the rest...or to anyone. You have my word..."

Jake considered his boss, and nodded. "I have a feeling that's worth more than much else at CI these days. I'll take it." This time the grin was easier, more comfortable. "I'm glad you called me in. I won't let you down."

Logan was again amazed at the nobility still to be found in this difficult, strange postPulse world, and felt gratitude that such people existed, in a world that his uncle and his kind threatened to overrun. "That's the best thing I've heard this week." He admitted. "Thank you, Jake..."

_**...to be continued...**_


	6. With Her Own Eyes

_**DISCLAIMER: Insert previous ones here.**_

_**A/N: A special thanks goes out to three of you who in the past weeks have offered factual input, laughs and serious impingement on my day job...but for your appearances in my mailbox, these stories wouldn't be moving forward. These are my virtual thank you gifts, a special one for each you: a full WEEK at the spa; independent wealth for unlimited coffee, DVDs, and time on the ground; and a Bourbon Street shopping trip for two...**_

**FOGLE TOWERS, 10:15 A.M.  
Garage**

Bling got out of his car and frowned to see that the Aztek was still not in its stall. This was day three that Logan had gone without his workout, and there was no telling when he would settle down and let Bling do the needed ROM exercises...

He didn't like it. Of course he worried about what he could only imagine was happening to Logan's immobile, and now unworked joints, let alone what other medical matters he might be ignoring, but it was more than that. Something was going on and Logan was shutting him out. He still took his role as trainer and protector very seriously, but with Logan, you had to have a little help from him to keep up with his schedule and projects. Now, he was running the other way. The company thing, the 'drones... his family and all their skeletons, all had been working on the normally driven man to lead him away from his usual schedule...and his usual connections. Bling hated to think about how the personal aspects of this one tugged at his charge. Slamming his car door shut, Bling turned to go toward the elevator. Enough was enough. He'd wait until the man appeared, and would not let him off the hook...

He'd nearly reached the elevator when he heard the soft, distinctive purr in the distance, and slowed. His suspicions proved right. The purr rose to a mechanical roar as Max drove in on her Ninja, pulling up alongside Bling.

"He's not here?" Max was worried too, clearly–no greeting, no wasted words–she was moving into her own, protector mode, and it told Bling that Logan must be avoiding her, too. This wasn't good...

"Just going up, but no, there's no reason I know that he'd be here if the car's not." Bling watched her closely as Max nodded, seeing her thoughts racing ahead. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Yesterday–and even then I was 'interrupting'..." Bling's expression began to sink in to her thoughts, and she knew her concern was legitimate. "What about you?"

"Wednesday."

Wednesday? Bling, his exercises..."

"Yeah, I know. He does too, but..." The man shrugged, his consternation not as clear on his face as was his concern. "I've got some time today. I'll just stay 'til he gets back."

"You don't know where he is, or how long he'll be, do you?"

Bling shook his head. "No, but that's okay. I have some work up there that I can do..." He paused before admitting the rest to Max, knowing she'd understand the significance–and knew she ought to hear it as well. "Someone needs to get his messages and e-mail...the drop box was full and I think the other things haven't been checked for a while..."

Her eyes darted to his with a level of worry he'd rarely seen in Max–he imagined she saw it in his as well. "Bling, that's not like him..."

He nodded. "I know. And for all his griping, neither is letting more than a day go by without his ROM –the stiffness and spasms creep up on him fast enough that he usually gives in without too much delay."

"What _is_ all this?" Her tone carried her frustration with being helpless to 'fix' things. "Is this just the damn Cale Industries thing? It's gotta be more than that..."

"I don't know if it is..." Bling's voice was low, as they spoke in the deserted garage. No telling who or what, in addition to Fogle Towers' own security system, might be listening. "There's enough there to hold him. He's bound and determined to get behind the murders–and the 'drones. He's acting as if _he's_ responsible, since he's learned family's involved..."

Max understood immediately, flashing back to her own need to– 'address' –Ben's killing spree. She shivered, knowing she understood more than Bling could how obsessive such a crusade could be–especially in Logan...

"...and, he seems to feel responsible for the company, for the loss of jobs and stock value and reputation...I don't really know Bennett, but I think he was going to agree to the place being sold before Logan swooped in..."

Max nodded in understanding, agreeing immediately with the therapist's assessment. "Give all that to Logan, and I guess this isn't surprising–look how wrapped up he gets with other people's problems..."

Bling's chuckle was soft–ironic, without humor. He paused a moment, then offered, "Look–do you want to come up?"

She shook her head. "I can't just sit around...I may get out there & see what I can find."

His eyebrows went up. "Where?"

She shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know–but somewhere. Maybe the Company..."

Bling looked skeptical. "Have you been out there? Not the easiest place to sneak in, sight unseen."

Finally, with his words, Max grinned a very Max grin. "True–but then, you haven't really seen me sneak in places, sight unseen, have you?" With a flash of her milky white teeth, Max started up her bike and her eyes carried the hope that Bling could once again force some sense into Logan. "I'll swing by there once it gets dark. And see what I can find, before then." She pulled on her glasses, and added, "Good luck. Tell him..." She paused. "Tell him I'm around."

Bling nodded his understanding, stepping back as she revved the engine. "I will." He watched the black form ride off and away before finally moving toward the waiting elevator...

**FOGLE TOWERS, 2:53 P.M.  
Garage**

It was nearly 3:00 when Logan pulled back into his garage. He felt a little more settled than when he'd left, knowing that he had Jake lined up at CI to give him an inside look at things, but still fought what this might mean to the engineer, this "informant" engendering more protective concern from him than his usual EO contacts. With rare exceptions, those working for EO in any position that could threaten them knew exactly what they were doing, and accepted the risks. With Jake–clearly, his suspicions made him nervous, yet he'd wholeheartedly agreed to help out the boss. But Logan wasn't convinced that, if his own suspicions were correct, Jake could _really_ understand just how deadly these "buyers" could be...

He'd fought ripples of guilt as he drove home after several hours at CI, the 40 minutes of bottled traffic and slow check points not only making him irritated with the loss of time he didn't have to give today, but giving him more time alone with his thoughts. Had he signed Jake up only to be disappeared, just like his friends? He reflected how easily the kid had spoken with him, told him things that he certainly knew could get him into trouble. Maybe if he had a talk with him, reminded him to be careful...

His thoughts were split into a dozen different threads, some more insistent than others: The satisfaction of lining up a new source was strained by his concern for Jake and the guilt he felt for having to put the engineer in the position of agreeing to help him... The ever-present nagging to figure out the who and what of the unidentified trio wasn't appreciably lessened by having Jake on board; the new information that they might also have biochemical aspirations, whether from Cale Industries or elsewhere, made his concern about them even greater... His evening plans, although irritatingly banal in light of the other issues pressing on him, were not only a vital link to this world he needed to re-enter, but the most immediate. Even more threads intertwined there: several tasks to complete before the evening, at least made easier by Daphne having agreed, thoughtfully, to come to his place, as he was nearer the Pier than she–a call to the tailor, if his trousers hadn't been delivered yet...a shower and shave...some homework to update information on some shareholders he anticipated seeing at the event...and several dark battles he had to overcome, as he wrestled with having to face the same vicious crowd who had taken such delight in watching his discomfort, the distaste of moving back into this life sharp...

And...over all, as much as it pained him...Max...

She never completely left his thoughts, but he was more immediately reminded of her as he heard his belly growl yet again, demanding more than coffee. He'd grab something to take the edge off, as he waited for dinner...thoughts of Max washed over him as he sat at the unmoving checkpoint mere blocks from his home, allowing the other concerns to dim a wee bit...

...EO's stomach hadn't growled so much in the past weeks and months as it did, back a year or so ago; Max's frequent stops for dinner and an occasional lunch made him more likely to have good, nourishing meals at regular intervals, even if she often _did_ end up eating more than he did. _Hell_, he mused, _even an empty stomach can make me think of Max._ But every reason he thought of her, every reason he longed for her to be there with him, was yet another reason why he needed to keep her at arm's length on this one. He needed to be as dark as Jonas, for which he was ashamed; he needed to circulate pleasantly amid the crowd who would mock him, which would shame him, and who would skewer her, which would enrage him. He needed to investigate those who might well be Manticore... which could destroy her...

And if that happened, he knew that this time there would be no reason _not_ to pull the trigger...

He shook off the morose thoughts as he started to move again, even allowing a wry, private thought to himself: if she _could_ read his mind at this moment, Max would at first be concerned and upset with his brooding fatalism...and then just mad enough to make good on previous threats to kick his ass. Mental images of just how she would do so filled his thoughts the last block or two...

_Damn_...

As he turned into the garage, Logan saw that Bling's car was parked at the curb in front of his building, and gave very brief thought to leaving again. _No way, not nearly enough time to do what I have to do, let alone time to run from him...or to do my reps..._ Logan pulled in, turned off the car's motor and sat still for a moment, considering. Short of phoning in some false emergency at the hospital, asking Bling to come in and help–

_...hmmm...not bad_, he gave himself. _Maybe..._

He shook it off, a bit ashamed at entertaining the thought but filing it away for future pinches. He opened the door to get out, knowing there was nothing to be done except face the music, maybe promise a raincheck for tomorrow, if Bling was available. As if in self-rebuke, a spasm rattled the leg he was moving out of the footwell toward the pavement. The consequences immediately struck him: not tonight, he grimaced...not with a crowd he needed to impress with his ability to steer CI, his strength despite the chair...not with a crowd looking for weakness in one of Seattle's Cales, they who all were tumbling from grace...not tonight, when he couldn't afford to take his meds to control them, not when he needed to be sharp and when he needed to be able to drink with them, assure everyone he was still one of them...Not when he was moments away from a lecture from Bling that exactly this sort of thing would happen...

The tremors did not stop but were quieter as he continued to move out of the car. He could no longer deny that his joints were a bit stiffer, three days without a workout; his transfer wasn't as fluid. _He told you so,_ his conscience mocked...

**FOGLE TOWERS, 3:06 P.M.  
Penthouse**

Bling heard the door and sat back from the computer, glancing at his watch. Drawing a deep breath, he willed himself to remain centered, unruffled. He expected that Logan would be intractable, but beyond that he wasn't sure how to read him these days, only that he wasn't himself, with the events at CI. His own worry and irritation with the stubborn man would not gain his acquiescence, Bling reminded himself...

He remained seated, waiting to see if Logan came this way immediately or not. His wait was brief. Logan appeared in the doorway, apparently not surprised to see him. "Hey" he began, tentatively.

"Hey" Bling immediately heard his voice sound more accusative than he wanted. He drew a steadying breath and tried again. "You've been busy."

Logan nodded. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Bling echoed. "So, I had some time today and thought I'd just wait, til you were back."

Logan's expression involuntarily shifted into his awkwardly-pained one. "Look, I'm sorry you stayed, but I have to..."

"No, you don't..." Bling interrupted, the steadying breath obviously insufficient this time. "Three days, Logan...and try to tell me you haven't felt it. If you won't..." He tipped his chin at Logan's form. "Look at your right knee."

Logan involuntarily glanced down to see his leg twitching, the knee pulling slightly at an odd angle, the spasm even more insistent than in the car. He searched for words in response but had little; he looked back up to his therapist to finally shrug, "I have to be ready to leave at 7:30."

"Forty five minutes."

"Thirty..."

"Forty five _at least_." Bling was firm, "unless it's a dance contest and you're planning for that to pass as your entry. By the time 7:30 rolls around you'll have them both banging away at the footrest, maybe even tapping on the floor." The words were sharp, the sarcasm uncharacteristically exaggerated for Bling. "Was that what you're going for?"

Logan looked up at Bling, hearing the anger in the man's words, wanting to be angry back–hell, he was exhausted, he was fighting to salvage a company his uncle had destroyed, to discover who murdered the parolees...he was fighting the reality of what he'd started putting together. All that, all he gave of himself, and now Bling was on his back, too?

...but he couldn't feel anger...not when he knew why Bling was angry...not when he appreciated more than he could express not only what this man had done for him, but the fierce loyalty and care he showed him, no matter his moods or complaining... Not anger, then...the only thing he could offer was concession...

"...okay..." he sighed... "I'll go change.."

Bling frowned at the disappearing back. Something was going on and Logan was shutting him out...

Silently, he stood to go get the training table ready...

**CALE INDUSTRIES, 7:11 P.M.  
Back gates**

Max sat on a small rise overlooking Cale Industries, a final consideration of the property as a whole, letting her thoughts open to process any small clues or chinks that might be handy down the line...for what, Max wasn't sure. But it was a part of her training and she would file away anything she could, in case it was useful later.

She had circled the property, not leaving her bike or the road surrounding it until she saw a what she hoped was a blind spot in the security system, allowing an off-road ride closer to the perimeter...she didn't stop moving but just puttered along, assessing for future use, trying to find some inspiration as to what she could do. No great ideas...no real need to break in...

_Logan, what the hell can we do to help you with this? 'Cos, sure as anything, you're not giving up this fight, not at least until you have some of your answers..._

Nothing else to be done here...and maybe, finally, he was back home...glancing at her watch, she saw it was after 7:00. Maybe one last try...and she turned her bike to urge it on back toward town and Logan...

**FOGLE TOWERS, 7:57 P.M.  
Garage**

Max pulled in, steered her bike back behind a support beam, and switched off the engine. In the immediate quiet she heard voices, muffled, within the mechanical hum of the elevator. It was coming down, the conversation inside carried to her sensitive ears. And what she heard first was Logan's voice...

"...sorry I was running late." Logan's voice was light, carrying the charm he used to get his way or wheedle forgiveness, becoming clearer in the garage's soft echo as the elevator doors opened. "It was a pretty full day..."

"That's okay...even if it was another hour, we wouldn't be the last. You know they battle to see who can be the _most_ fashionably late." The feminine voice in response was cultured, amused...familiar. Max pressed back into the shadows to watch, breath caught...and saw the forms emerging from the elevator...

"Right, I'd forgotten." Max felt a lump thicken in her throat as she saw Logan move past her, unaware of her presence, in expensive sport coat and open collar, again shaven and elegant, as he was meant to be... At his side, yet again, was the woman Max met at Bennett's reception, when Logan could barely tear his eyes from her... He was laughing. "Tell me again _why_ we're going to a party with these people?"

Daphne was smiling, at ease in a softly flowing, short designer dress, long legs in feminine heels, expensive jewelry glittering at her ears, her graceful form moving with Logan as if the chair didn't faze her, either...Max squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to breathe normally, fighting the desire to attack her and claim Logan for herself, fighting the unfamiliar emotions of jealousy and desire and heartbreak...

It was becoming harder and harder to hold on to the idea that this was a mission for him...

She waited long minutes, until the aristocratic couple had gotten into the Aztek and driven off into the night, before she could move. Heartsick, she climbed back onto the Ninja to head out into the darkness, at a loss to know where to go but knowing she couldn't go home, not with the emotions tearing at her, unresolved.

_If this is what it feels like to be a 'real girl,'_ she ached, _maybe I **am** meant more for the likes of Manticore..._

_To be continued..._


	7. Lyin' Eyes

_**DISCLAIMER**: All participants affectionately borrowed from the TV world of DA. No profit made._

_**THANKS ONCE MORE** to those of you reading. Please stop by to review–it's the only way I'll know if I've made any sense._

**INTERSTATE 5, 8:11 P.M.  
**

Tires hummed on wet pavement as the now-presentable Aztek rolled along the highway toward the Pier and the waiting Social Event, streetlights shining against the puddles and the drops on the windshield, shifting the light inside the passenger compartment.

Despite his smiles and charm for Daphne, Logan felt his dread growing for the evening, given the circumstances: he knew what he'd be facing and how black his mood was after his last foray into this crowd. This time he wasn't alone, but with a comfortable old friend who shouldn't really be a friend, given their parting–but given their respective reasons, a friend willing to come along and help him fit back into the world he'd happily left behind some years before. Daphne had claimed this was for her own benefit, too, but he felt guilty for not being as candid with her as he might. He knew the path his performance might take, and she needed to know as well, so that she could distance herself, if she chose...he broke several moments of silence with his thoughts.

"Daphne...to be fair, to you..." he began. "I need these people to think that I can pick up where Jonas left off, _be_ Jonas, for the company, just as cold and calculating and mercenary as he was," Logan's voice was steady...but tired, heavy, she thought. "And if your plan is that everyone think we're together, that's fine...but you need to know just who it is you're with, tonight."

Daphne glanced to the familiar features, silhouetted against the streetlights outside his window, and let her grin twist wryly with her encouragement. "Well, then, neither of us will be who we claim to be. Seems fair." she offered. "Besides, you know this crowd–Jonas was one of them, and his behavior common. As sad as it may be, if they believe you're that man, they'll just think you've come back to the fold as a proper Cale, and that our match is ordained. Maybe it would be even better for me that way."

Logan met her eyes briefly, taking his off the road, evaluating to see if she was being candid in this, and his moment's assessment convinced him she was indeed as much of an outsider as he, under false pretenses as was he, engaging the enemy of their childhood now for their adult gains. He relaxed, slightly, to know he had an ally. This ally would raise the comfort factor for his charade, indeed: she was a part of this society and was recognizable to most, accepted, as much as anyone was "accepted" by this crowd, already in and not questioned as authentic...

"I don't think you realize how helpful it is that you want to do this" he laughed dryly. "I've been out of the loop, long enough–and I never thought _that_ would be a liability..."

"You should find a way to dabble from the sidelines, as I did" she smiled easily. He noted that her smile, her very demeanor, was actually far more comfortable and centered than it had been, back in college. _Well, maybe finally discovering who you are–and being with an old friend who knows your secret before you wear it for the world–would go a long way to that ease_, Logan reflected. Despite all else going on at the moment, Logan felt a small brush of satisfaction that he might have made things a little easier for her, even for an evening. "One of the crowd, but now working and soliciting their business... it gives Margo and her friends a chance to say that they have a Hamilton at their bidding, to embarrass my family that they have a 'working' daughter, to order me around as they do their kitchen staff..."

Logan chuckled, feeling a comfort with Daphne that he hadn't felt since it all had begun, what, only the week before? "That doesn't bother you?"

"No," she laughed, genuinely. "It just makes more clear to me what kind of people they are. And, each time one of them buys one of my pieces, it makes it that much more important for one of their crowd to follow suit, and get something for their homes or someone's office...which in turn has led to me getting calls from other people, even 'normal' folks who've seen one of my paintings in one of those places. Truth is, Logan, it's been the best thing yet for my career–their shallow, vicious natures." Again Daphne laughed, enjoying the irony. "So, while I don't think I've become too obsequious–I revel in it."

He finally shook his head, the irony still leaving a bitter taste. "Well, I'm delighted to hear that finally, their complete lack of decency has paid off, at least for someone." He paused, then asked, "If you're doing that well–why are you still hiding? Why was it important to you, to come with me tonight?"

Her smile softened a bit, and she admitted, "Well, it's still a little early to be too candid about my... interests...but I think I'm selling well enough that it's not so important anymore, that they think I'm straight." She glanced over at him to admit, "Honestly? It was more that I knew I was just the date you needed, tonight–whatever it is that has you back into things..." When he looked to her, his automatic response honed to be suspicious, she urged, "Look, I really _don't_ need to know more than that you're trying to help Bennett salvage the company–that in itself is noble enough to face this crowd again, after you've successfully escaped. But you have something else going on..." She considered him, " and you need a way to get back in with the old gang. If I thought you were wanting back in to stay, and be like them, I wouldn't have suggested this." She kept her eyes on him, knowing she was right, but appreciating the chance to confirm, even so. "But I think I know you better than that. And...I owe you...for not being candid with you, all those years ago..."

This time his glance softened as he shook his head, "You weren't ready" he said. "You don't owe me anything for that."

"Well. Maybe not. But if I can lend a hand now..." She was quiet for a moment, and tried, her curiosity nudging her, "I know you'd rather have Max along, than me. At least if you were attending just to be attending..." She glanced over to see his expression veil slightly. He didn't respond right away so she didn't either, knowing he'd blink first. He did.

"Well, as you observed, it's not just that–I have some business contacts to develop," he thought his answer was fairly smooth, "and Max doesn't really pass as being one of this crowd."

"No, she doesn't" she agreed, eyebrows curving up that he'd been able to see it–and was surprised that Logan immediately shot her a look full of question and protective defensiveness. "What? You just said..." She looked at him quizzically, then understanding crossed her face, "Logan, you don't think she fooled anyone, at Bennett's wedding...?" He stared ahead at the road, not speaking, and she added, wryly, "except maybe Margo...but then, Jonas didn't marry her for her cleverness, did he?"

Logan had gotten quiet. Daphne, worried that she'd offended him–his adoration of Max really _was_ taking him over, she saw...regrouped to explain, gently, "Logan, Max is lovely– she seems to be bright, and she's certainly beautiful. And I've seen how she looks at you. And as for you, when she's around, no one else is in the room for you, no matter how hard you were trying at the wedding to look like you were giving me your full attention..." Daphne mused again and added, almost sadly, "even when you _thought_ you wanted to marry me, you never looked at me that way. I'm happy for you both and I hope you're smart enough to know when you have something good, and grab it with both hands. But my darling Logan," she sighed, patiently, "Max did _not_ grow up like we did, in Greenwich or anywhere –you know the signs as well as I do, and no matter how much you want to deny it, it's hard enough to shake off the signs of 'breeding' even when you know what they are–let alone, _really_ pass for the genuine article, without spending a lot of time with the blue bloods." She shook her head. "Max may be many things, but she clearly isn't 'one of us.' Maybe not all of you men will see it, but many will, no matter how beautiful she is. And all the women had her pegged from the moment she walked in–they have a nose for those things"

He glanced at her, quickly, still surprised, despite his affecting awareness of their games. He managed, "Someone said something..."

"Yeah–they have a mouth for those things, too..." She didn't want to have to tell him all of it–the too-fascinated discussion about his injuries and what he could–and probably couldn't–do anymore, about just who this Max was–and who she _thought_ she was, about how she and Logan must have hooked up and their certainty she was in it only for Logan's money, the pity factor, or (the more likely candidate for most) both–and how all of the discussion was far more animated, far more vicious, because Max was far more attractive than most of them...and Logan far more attractive than most of their dates.

"Well, then," Logan had raised his chin, his jaw tight, his smile taut. "I guess they'll be pleased to see that we're together, after all."

"Just hang on to the idea that Max will be spared all this," Daphne tried, peering over at the man who, in another life, might now be her husband. She knew she was pulled in another direction, but if it had been that she were looking for a husband, she couldn't have found a better one than Logan Cale. "And just think what we'll be gaining, tonight." Her smile curled up in mischief. "I for one plan to enjoy their certainty that 'blood will tell.'"

Logan looked back to his new partner in crime, beginning to understand that all this time, he really wasn't alone in his rejection of all their "advantages." Relaxing a little, he turned back to the road with a bit of a smile. "I knew there was some reason I fell for you, all those years ago."

"You have a thing for anarchists." She dared.

"That I do." His smile was finally an honest one. "I'm glad you do, too."

**THE PIER, 9:57 P.M.**

From his arrival forty minutes earlier, Bennett had been keeping a worried eye on his cousin. Ever since the funeral, he'd thought Logan had seemed even more rattled by Jonas' death and the company's spiraling misfortunes than he himself had. At first he felt guilty about it, but then justified it all by reminding himself that it was just Logan's way, to agonize over each little thing. When he next realized that Logan was mourning not only what events were doing to the Cales, but to every single employee and their families, he relaxed into the confirmation that it was just Logan's social conscience plaguing him again. The small, additional guilt _that_ added, that his cousin was so much more altruistic than he, was assuaged by a solemn internal promise to be more like his cousin, and a genuine enthusiasm that Logan wanted come back to CI, to help. All in all, it felt right, and good, and Bennett had believed that the company would be reborn into what it should have been, had Jonas and his partners not gotten so greedy...

But the past week at CI had Logan looking haggard; the security logs showed that he arrived early and stayed long into the night. He spent long hours in R & D with the skeleton crew still there, and with what files and records were left to them, filed away on hard copy. Logan had maintenance cart boxes and boxes of remaining and overlooked records to his office and spent even longer stretches just searching through, as if looking for the answers to unknown questions...

Unknown to Bennett, at least; he had no clue what Logan was seeking. It was more than just the company, it had to be. But in all truth Logan had always intimidated him, just a little–not in the way his father had, but with his intelligence, his driven passion for righting wrongs–and Bennett felt a bit cowed by it all. He stubbornly trusted in Logan's nobility and affection for him, that he would do no ill, and would tell him when something was up. He wanted with all his heart to trust him...

But it didn't assuage his worry. And what he saw this evening didn't help him any: that Logan would come to one of these "must attend" functions was stunning, for a start. But there he was, working the crowd, a whiskey–neat, unlike Logan–in hand, as if he were one of the Old Boys himself. Upon seeing Logan, Bennett immediately began searching the crowd to find Max, hoping to send Marianne over to say hello, maybe make things a bit more comfortable for her. Bennett had such high hopes for Logan, having seen how he looked at her...and how she looked at him. Hell, how she _looked_, period...

After a long enough time, and still no Max, Bennett began thinking Logan was alone. Maybe he didn't want to put her through it, he'd reasoned; that sounded like Logan. But when Daphne Hamilton came up to Logan, her smile for him and extended hand gathered in by his cousin, with affection, Bennett felt as if everything he'd ever thought he'd known about Logan Cale was wrong. _This_ was all wrong. No matter what happened with the company, or his own assets, or his future..._this_ all was wrong...

Most of the evening thus far, Logan had been either engaged by those who hadn't seen him at such events in years, and so were drawn in curiosity to learn why he was back, or had been absorbed by the very attractive and very attentive Daphne. But finally, for the moment, his cousin was alone–and, with another gulp of his own whiskey to fortify him, Bennett went to see his new vice-president...

"Hey, Logan." He tried a smile. Logan looked up and beamed for his cousin.

"Bennett, I didn't know you were coming," Logan lied. "Where's Marianne?"

"Oh–over with the crowd at the piano; they're debating schools or something." Bennett shrugged away the question. "Did I...see right? You're with Daphne?"

"I guess you did" Logan answered expansively. "She looks great, don't you think?"

"Yes, but..." Bennett frowned, finding the going difficult with his cousin clearly under the influence of the whiskey he was knocking back. At the direct, insistent stare, daring him to go on, Bennett managed, "I'm just surprised...I mean, at the wedding...you and Max..."

"We what?" Logan snorted softly. " Max wasn't around very much, as I recall. I actually spent more time with Daphne... but it was _your_ reception, you were probably too busy..."

Bennett shook his head, "No, I saw you two. You seemed so good together..."

Logan's face darkened; his eyes darted away from his cousin's in what appeared to be an emotional reaction. "We're not like that...we never were," he bit the words, low.

Bennett heard the bravery of the whiskey speaking for him. "I don't believe you. I _saw_ you both."

Logan's eyes snapped back up to Bennett's in a painful mix of anger and impossibility. "You couldn't have–we were never like that," he insisted. "Look at all this–this isn't Max. We're Cales. We have..." Logan's words wavered, died on his lips. He drew a breath, and seemed to pull himself together. With another moment, and a draw on the whiskey, he laughed, humorlessly, and put down his drink. "If you'll excuse me, I have a date I'm ignoring. I'll see you Monday, Bennett."

And as Logan moved away, he left an even more stunned–and even more worried–cousin in his wake...

**THE PIER, 10:46 P.M.**

"I don't believe I've gotten to express my sympathies for the loss of your father, Bennett."

Bennett had been counting the minutes to 11:00, the time he and Marianne agreed that they would have been there long enough to be proper, each actually preferring to be anywhere but at the awkward function. Bennett was sick with what he saw from Logan, and wanted desperately to tell Marianne, at least to get it off his chest, even if she didn't know Logan from Adam and probably had no wisdom to offer. Only fifteen minutes to go..

He turned at the unfamiliar voice. The woman was ice–smooth, cold, hard. "I had an opportunity to work with him over the past weeks. He was a man of vision."

Bennett blinked, thinking he might have seen her once before, but not placing her. "Thank you, miss...?"

"Elizabeth Renfro. _Doctor_ Elizabeth Renfro..." The emphasis was as smooth as she, quiet, but insistent. "We only recently completed a project with your company, just before Jonas'– unexpected–death. I would hope that, as you're attempting to keep the company afloat, we might continue to do business."

Bennett offered an uncomfortable smile, wishing Logan–the _real_ Logan–were with him to get a read on this Dr. Renfro, who was just too polished and practiced for his comfort. But he was on his own, and he would manage... "Thank you, Dr. Renfro." He drew up a bit straighter. "I appreciate your trust in Cale Industries. We have some restrictions as to what we can and can't do, according to our lawyers, as we wait to see if we can continue...in the circumstances." He wondered if she knew that the company had been stripped by the government, and if she did, that they were fighting to keep it operational. He considered her words...and her demeanor...and suspected she knew as much as he did...

"So, tell me" she purred, stepping slightly closer, causing him an unconscious urge to take a step back in response. "You have a new partner, your cousin..."

"Yes, Logan. He's come back to the company, as we get things back on line."

"I hear he was a journalist, rather an unpopular one with the companies he'd reported as violators of employment regs or environmental laws."

"He did a few stories about polluters, and about exploitation of undocumented workers–like that one on Tetropin Corp's cover-up of employees' illnesses resulting from chemical exposure in their plants" Bennett stood strong, still proud of what Logan had uncovered in those investigations. "He's not unpopular with companies that are responsible."

"Like...Cale Industries...?" She smiled, eyebrow lifting. "Taking on his own family's company..."

"He was right." Bennett insisted, remembering his impotent attempts to convince his father of the same thing. "Besides, corrections were made, it was a long time ago–and this is still the company his father helped develop." He remembered himself, and reminded himself that this was a former client and, potentially, a continuing customer. "Logan–and I–will make CI the best it can be, Dr. Renfro. We won't allow corners to be cut or regs to be ignored just for a bigger buck–we'll make sure everything is done the right way, for the right reasons. We intend to restore CI's reputation..."

"Besmirched by your father?" She asked, unblinkingly.

Bennett swallowed, drew up a bit more and nodded, "Besmirched by my father, and corrected by us. We would be happy to offer our services again to you, Dr. Renfro, if you want a reputable, respectable company working for you."

"Indeed." She lifted an eyebrow. "I'll have to give _that_ some thought..."

**THE PIER, 11:24 P.M.**

Logan had gone outside on the wide balcony overlooking the marina, where large, sleek yachts were moored, flaunting their beauty in the face of the Depression, helping those inside pretend there was no Pulse–or maybe more telling–that they were above all the pain and loss it had caused. They really _were_ beautiful, he had to admit–and realized it wouldn't mean anything if they weren't. The evening was cool, damp...but the rain had stopped for the time being. He just needed a few minutes, alone...

He drew a deep breath, battered from his charade of the evening. It was hard to lie to Bennett, no matter the reasons...hard to be acting without knowing Max was there, for him, with him...hard to face so many shallow, callous people ...but he was accomplishing what he needed, for the evening, making contacts, convincing them all that a Cale had returned to the fold. He hoped it wouldn't have to be for long...

The soft sounds of the water were broken by the sharp click of stiletto on decking, and a voice came to him over it all. "Mr. Cale."

And he turned to see the now-familiar face of the woman on the tapes...

Swallowing hard, quickly, he affected a smile, his eyebrows lifted. "Logan. And you are..."

"Elizabeth Renfro." As she extended her hand, Logan saw her dark eyes flash amusement and intelligence as they assessed him. She would not be one to underestimate.

"Ms. Renfro..." Logan smiled slightly, affecting the look he knew well from Jonas and the others now around him: the superiority of money, the assumption that it was all that mattered. "A pleasure."

"Oh, no, the pleasure is mine" the woman purred. "I confess I've been watching you this evening and... when I saw you came out here alone...well, I couldn't resist the moment..."

He would not show it, he could not, but here was the mystery woman, playing coy with him? She must know he was inside CI, he reasoned; she wanted something–and he had no delusions that the woman he'd seen on the security tapes, who ordered the death drones and in all likelihood the several murders he was investigating, would merely flirt for sport with a man she'd spotted at a party. Conscious that he was channeling Jonas now, he took a sip of the well-aged whisky and, eyes never leaving hers, said, "I'm flattered. " He paused, and, with a wry smile, said, "I've been away from all this for a while, so maybe I ought to know...but what brings you to us, Ms. Renfro?"

"Well...it's Dr. Renfro...and I was a business associate of your uncle, before his death." Her voice was as sultry as before, but the chill was there, the calculating business woman taking over.

"So you probably know that Cale Industries is in something of a crisis, at the moment." Logan countered.

"But you're taking over as vice-president" Renfro countered.

"And, I plan to get it past that crisis, and would invite you to bring your business back to us–if you find yourself in the market for our goods..." Logan smiled broadly, all charm.

"I will certainly keep that in mind," Renfro nodded, seemingly pleased at his words. "So it's true, then, you're taking over at CI?"

Logan chuckled, a cold sound. "'Taking over' is a bit strong, but yes, I'm taking an active role in the company–at least until the current problems are settled."

"Your cousin speaks so well of you, your morals and standards." She oozed. "But those 'standards' sometimes are counterproductive in a _real_ business environment, don't you agree? Usually they slow progress, and, in the final analysis, are quite unnecessary. At least in the sort of business Jonas and I used to do." Renfro paused to give him a long, considered look, before lifting her chin in a challenge. "Your cousin tells me you are returning the company to the glory days of Cale Industries, squeaky-clean savior of mankind." She smiled again, viperously. "Or have I misunderstood?"

"My cousin is an innocent." Logan swallowed the last gulp of the whiskey he held, "inoffensive and charming, just what Cale Industries needs as its public face–no one is threatened, and no one suspects we're capable of much." He leveled a calculating eye at the woman, and allowed a small twist at the corner of his mouth. "Certainly _he_ doesn't suspect his cousin, the crusading journalist, of much."

Renfro's eyebrows went up and her own smile broadened. "And just what had you in mind for your company, Mr. Cale, that your cousin doesn't suspect?"

"That could depend on you" Logan leaned back in his chair, well aware that he'd just crossed the line into dangerous territory at lightning speed, maybe even into the depths of Manticore, and he would need all his wits and wiles to not risk everything...most especially Max. He could not let his fears show–and would even raise the stakes with as much speed as she'd brought them up to him. "I'm afraid I wasn't able to learn much of what went on, those last days at CI before Jonas was killed–but I learned enough to believe that you were the one who brought the contract to us, to...update...the hoverdrones...and that you were interested in another sort of project as well...one involving not mechanical, but chemical engineers..." At her look of surprise, he laughed, a charming, rueful look about him now. "I'm not used to being quite so candid, but I suspect I wouldn't be able to fool you too long–and so I will admit that I don't know more than that–but I also suspect that you and I can reach a level of understanding much as you and Jonas did."

"Well, Mr. Cale..."

"Logan." His smile remained, his eyebrow lifting.

"Logan" she agreed, regaining her composure. "I'm not sure that we have any immediate need for your company's services...but I am certainly interested in coming to an understanding..."

He smiled, all charm and confidence. "Where may I call you?"

"I'll call you–when I'm ready," she parried. "I know where to find you now, don't I?" She would keep the upper hand, he saw, as she turned, adding dismissively, "A pleasure, Logan..."

These moments would be the hardest, Logan reflected, doing all he could to sit impassively, to retain the tiny smile he'd worn those last few moments, to avoid telegraphing the competing emotions he felt of dared success, believing he'd convinced Renfro of his intentions, and of dread for what he might have done. Putting himself on anyone's radar, even as himself in seemingly innocuous circumstances, had always invited discovery of Eyes Only. Now...and especially with this woman...he invited discovery of Max as well. And he would do anything to prevent that from happening...

"...Logan..."

The gentle hand on his arm and soft voice broke through thoughts so dark he was lost in them; he blinked, startled, to find his knuckles white around his glass, and a fine prickle of sweat along his brow. Daphne smiled the ever-practiced smile of the socially-adept, adding a soft, airy laugh, but said, her voice low, "Are you alright? That woman looks like the Grim Reaper himself–are you getting in over your head, here?"

Drawing a slow breath to steady himself, he too kept his face 'appropriate' and loosened his grip on the glass, more grateful than ever to have Daphne there, and admitted to her, "I may be...but it's necessary, Daphne, and maybe why I came." He was able then to focus more on her, wondering if she had accomplished her purpose as well. " What about you?" He felt the urge to leave now, to get back home to do something, find some way, to keep Max safely away from anything he'd begun this night– but owed Daphne her time here, for making his charade more believable–even to his own cousin. "Make the rounds?"

She nodded, "I did." Sensing his discomfort, knowing they were a topic of conversation in the vapid crowd itching for new gossip, she offered, "Any time you want to go, Logan, it's fine..."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm done here..."

"I certainly am," he leaned over to leave his empty glass on the railing, and pivoted to face the ballroom doors leading back inside. "Anyone we have to thank?"

"No–long gone." Daphne smiled. "We can make a clean getaway."

"One small comfort" Logan's smile was grim. "After you..."

**FOGLE TOWERS, 5:46 A.M.**

He had been sitting, staring out the windows for so long that Logan now could see the early colors of sunrise reflected in the mirrored windows of the buildings in his view... It didn't matter how long he sat, or how many different ways he tried to look at things, every equation came down to the same result: he was courting danger by inviting scrutiny, if not by Manticore, then by another government arm just as powerful and just as corrupt. Scrutiny meant attention, and Max was too close to him not to be noticed. His actions that night had just opened season on Max, and there was no way that would not risk her exposure. She was in danger; it was his doing. He needed to make her safe.

Logan knew that Zack was just over the border, too driven to go further, knowing Lydecker had to be so close, here in the area, that Max was here, that Brin had been picked up here and back in Manticore's grip. Set on finding a way to fight back, Zack, who never did approve of Max's staying in Seattle, would be more than happy to get Max away with him, keep her occupied...keep her safe...How better to keep her safe, Logan thought, provide her with Zack's skills to protect her as well as her own...

Logan stared at the phone number he'd been given, unknown to Max, wondering if it was still good...wondering if it was the right thing to do, deceiving Max like this. He sighed, closing his eyes. Of course it was..maybe not the best way, maybe not what either thought they wanted, maybe even unfair, to her, not to let her make her own, informed choices...but right, in the circumstances, no question. He lifted his phone and punched in the number he last had for Zack...

_To be continued..._


	8. Eyes Narrowed

_**DISCLAIMER**: Please see all previous; no ownership, no profits made._

**A/N: **_I know it's been far too long since this has been updated; my apologies – other stories have had me in their clutches. Thanks to all of you who have written asking for updates to the story; thanks to everyone for reading and hanging in on this one. And if anyone has a review they're not using, I'd really like it if you'd just drop it off here... :)_

**CALE INDUSTRIES 10:15 A.M.**

Logan had been holed up in Research and Development much of the morning, meeting with Jake as the two compared information they'd found in their respective reviews of the few remaining files, notes and materials scrounged in the nooks and crannies of Cale Industries' several labs. Logan was again reminded of what a good call it had been to bring Jake into his confidence, and was appreciative of his input as they tried to piece together the facts behind the development and delivery of the killer 'drones. The first Monday after they'd met at the coffee shop, Jake brought Logan a handful of seemingly innocuous papers that, to anyone other than an engineer in labs like those at CI, might look like random file notes, not related to any particular technology or project. But Jake was able to identify them as belonging to the project's senior optical engineer, Rick Collins, and as documenting Collins' initial work toward the facial recognition technology required for the 'drones search and destroy missions – all begun a good eighteen months before Jonas' death. With that, Jake's participation and expertise were locked in to step with Logan's quest, and the two had managed to communicate, one way or the other, every day following their first.

This morning, they met in a small office Logan had commandeered in the division, a far cry from the airy executive suite Bennett had prepared for him with tree-lined views and expensive furnishings, but which he could monitor for taps and intrusion far more easily than in his assigned space. Each man pulled up a summary file on his laptop of notes and findings which outlined material already covered, with the new information he'd gleaned since their last discussion. Logan had found invoices and a few file records that, when cross- referenced, allowed him to track dates and a billing code which then provided a way to trace of materials and employees involved on the project; Jake could take the seemingly unrelated data and build for Logan an idea of what CI had done, step by step, by whom, how, and when...

Logan looked over at the other man as he finished his own notes for project files he wanted to locate, and reflected how quickly he'd decided to trust him. He'd vetted Jake before even contacting him, though not as thoroughly as he normally would for an Eyes Only contact; he'd not had sufficient time. But this wasn't Eyes Only work, and there was no sign that the engineer couldn't be trusted. He hated that each day he drew the talented man further into the dark, ugly, dangerous world he increasingly believed was involved with the hoverdrones, but he'd been candid with Jake, at least as to the level of danger involved, and Jake had never wavered. As he pushed Max and Bling away, he drew Jake closer. He hoped that he wasn't sealing the man's fate with reliance on his input, even as he decided to raise the stakes for them all...

"Jake ..." Logan had decided to take this to yet again the next level, if his newest "operative" thought it would work. "I have a project that I'd like you to think about, see if it's possible, to help move this thing along." Logan began. "I met the director of the hoverdrone project the other night..."

Jake's head snapped up, and he asked, "The woman you asked about, before, from the security videos?"

Logan nodded, his voice dropping a little, unconsciously, even in the small office they checked regularly for bugs. "Dr. Elizabeth Renfro. She was up front about having done business with Jonas and the company. From what she said, they're still interested in doing business with CI in the future, but they have no need of us at present nor any specific plans for the future. That tells me that not only do they have everything they needed from CI for the drones, but that she isn't planning to come back for quite a while, if at all. I want her back here so I can find out who she's working for..." Jake's look in response stopped him for the moment, and, not understanding, Logan assured him, "there's no reason at all that she or anyone would need to know specifically who was involved in whatever we do to get them here..."

"It's not that, exactly," Jake began, awkwardly. "Logan, everything we've found so far just solidifies the hunch we've each had, that this is a covert group with government assets and the authority – either spoken or by lack of oversight – to do whatever they feel like doing, including kill anyone who gets in their way." He hesitated, but then managed, " I was just getting used to having you around..." Uncomfortable with his role as his employer's protector, but knowing he might be the only one who had a clue that Cale needed one, he tried to make Logan see reason. "I hate the idea of your luring them back if they're gone for a while. They're going to catch on that you've been investigating them. Even I know you were ... are ... a reporter, with a reputation for going after the big dogs. After years away, you come back to the family business on the heels of a series of murders tied to CI's hoverdrones. How can they _not_ suspect you?" Jake's concern was sincere – and acute. "You won't get out of it unscathed."

Logan looked back up to the worried expression of the engineer, reminding him of the looks he'd seen from Max, from Bling ... and his own intensity mellowed slightly with his appreciation. "I might – with your help." He could see the uncertainly in Jake's face and added, "I trust your judgment, Jake, and I've seen your abilities. Hear me out, and if you can help me with this – and you think I can get away with it..." his smile encouraged, "we might get them interested ... and have them lose interest ... with just enough time to take a peek into their secret clubhouse..."

**CALE INDUSTRIES 11:08 A.M.**

Forty minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Logan's assigned personal assistant, who had been in the same job for Gilbert Neal, prior to his disappearance, quietly opened the door. "Mr. Cale, there's a gentleman here to see you, who said he has an 11:15 with you. I'm sorry if I neglected to calendar an appointment..." she apologized softly, suspecting that yet again, her nonconformist boss was off 'doing his own thing,' which normally would irritate her keen sense of organized propriety. However, with _this_ Mr. Cale... her initial discomfort in working for a younger man, one confined to a wheelchair, gave way to inflated admiration for his determination to function, just as if there was no wheelchair ... and on to appreciation for his kindness to her, and intense interest in saving the company, even if, apparently, he was a bit ... unconventional. Along the way, she'd altogether stopped even registering the wheelchair...

Logan looked surprised at her words, initially, but it quickly resolved. "Oh, uh, no, Mrs. Brandt, I just forgot to tell you; I'd forgotten we agreed on a time. It's Mr... uh..." he prompted.

"Gillette. Zack Gillette."

Logan nodded, his face not too telling, he hoped, his guess at the announcement correct. He tried not to smirk at Zack's choice of name – so there would be no question, Logan assumed. "Right. Thank you, Mrs. Brandt; would you tell him I'll be ten minutes or so?"

"Yes, sir" she nodded, and backed out of the doorway, pulling the door shut behind her. Logan stared at the door, immediately pulled back to the reminder of how dangerous this game was to Max, and for that matter, to Zack. Once he told Zack why he'd called him, especially if the X-5 ever learned of the reasons _why_ he needed to get Max out of Dodge, there would be no going back, and there was an excellent chance he would never again see...

He swallowed the ache he felt at losing Max, and worked to remember what was at stake, tried to find the rage again that he'd felt at what had been done to his father's company, but it was too much work just trying to hold up while he thought his heart might break... Finally getting his thoughts and reactions under some level of control, Logan glanced over to Jake, who'd again been looking in concern at his boss when he saw the changes that had come over Cale's face, both initially, with the announcement of his lunch visitor – and then afterward, when the door closed, and the beleagered man's expression rippled in pain...

Logan drew a breath and picked up where they'd stopped at the interruption. "At any rate... I'd like to go over the proposal in a day or two, and probably somewhere..."

"_Boss_..." Jake couldn't keep it in any longer, and interrupted, "who is this guy? You didn't have an appointment..." he challenged. "You said something earlier about having someone go bring in some sandwiches, just a half hour ago."

Logan looked back up to the expression of clear worry Jake held for him now, and shook his head. "It's okay; I really did expect him, I just ... wasn't sure when he'd show up."

Jake seemed to be assessing carefully, but finally observed, "Not good news."

The thought of what he was about to do caused Logan to pause, the pain threatening to worm its way through his stubborn resolve... but he couldn't risk Max; if anything happened to her and he hadn't done his utmost to get her away... Logan's expression hardened as he shrugged to volunteer, "no, but, uh... just some unrelated business; nothing that will affect the projects here..." he looked back at the engineer. "I promise you that."

Jake nodded, unhappy with the situation but accepting, for the moment – and Logan saw in his reaction another familiar response, like he'd seen from so many who had helped him, over the years. What would Zack's response be to what he planned to say? What would Max's be?

The sudden stab of pain at the thought threatened to shake him from his plan, but he drew a deep breath and unlocked his brakes, backing up from the desk where he's been working. "I'm not sure that I'll be back today, but I'll be around tomorrow."

"Okay." Jake considered him. "And if there's anything you need, that I can do..."

Logan just nodded. "Thanks, Jake. I really do appreciate all you've been willing to do already."

The engineer wavered, then offered, "Just... be careful..."

Logan felt the darkness nibbing at him but managed a grim smile. "I will. You too..." Logan moved out of the small office and on down the corridor out of R & D, heading to his office before meeting Zack. It had been days since he'd seen Max, a couple since they'd even spoken. Depending on how this went, it might be that he'd not see her again ...

...ever.

The pain he felt was as sharp as any he'd ever felt, the loss of his life and his world now as overwhelming as anything he'd experienced after the shooting ... the only thing that mattered now, that would see him through, was keeping Max safe. Any other thought was ruin...

**CALE INDUSTRIES 11:32 A.M.**

Logan crossed the large, open lobby to see a strong form in an expensive suit. As the man turned, even expecting him, Logan was surprised to see that the man before him, looking very much at home in the surroundings and business attire, was indeed Zack. _Well_, though Logan offhandedly, _if he's going to steal camouflage for an mission, he might as well go for quality when quality will fit in..._

He went up directly to the younger man, all the while remembering that he needed to treat Zack exactly as he would a business contact. Stopping before him, Logan extended his hand, noting the gold cufflinks in French cuffs. _Not standard Manicore issue, but nice_, he mused wryly to himself. "Thank you for coming. I'm glad to see you could make it."

"Of course." Zack's appearance might have changed, losing the Marlon Brando look with the biker garb, but his demeanor and expression in appraising Logan as the men shook hands were the same as they'd been before, cool and suspicious. Still, clearly, he'd wasted no time in arriving and apparently appreciated the need to remain covert. Zack waited.

"It's nearly lunch time – have you eaten?" Logan asked. "I know a place where we can discuss business over lunch as easily as we can here."

"That's fine." Zack was willing to play the part too, and relaxed just a little, even offering a small smile. He stood by, unmoving, as Logan went closer to the reception desk.

"I'm going to lunch – I expect to be back this afternoon."

"Certainly, Mr. Cale," the receptionist smiled professionally – and Zack couldn't help but notice how completely Logan fit into these surroundings...

"My car is right out front..." Logan nodded toward the large, wide wall of windows overlooking the green, landscaped property softening the large parking lot. He barely glanced up as the younger man opened the door and stood aside to let Cale precede him, noting yet again in passing that even with his return, the maintenance people had not managed to get the automatic door working, to make his exit easier... _Focus_, he chastised himself. _This will be hard enough as it is..._

They crossed the sweeping front entry in silence, Zack's training reminding him to bide his time even with curiosity nibbling at him. He'd managed to get a sense of what had been going on with his own reconnaissance since receiving Logan's cryptic message, and he'd found very quickly that Logan's family and their business had been all over the Seattle news, with murder and investigations and financial ruin in the mix. He was certain that Logan hadn't called for his help with those matters, but was literally asking for Zack's help for Max. Logan's message had been brief: "Zack, it's Logan. I could use your help with your sister; she's going to get herself in trouble again at school. You know she won't listen to me. Get back to me, will you?" No number left, and "school" _had_ to be Logan's way of telling him that Manticore was involved...

That was three days ago. It took him one day to travel, and he'd spent the other two days after arrival doing local recon, to glean what it might be that Cale –or what _Max_– needed from him. He'd checked in on Max, unseen, and followed Cale as covertly. And what he'd seen spelled a lot: Max apparently fine, involved with her job and friends; Cale playing executive, suddenly looking and dressing like he actually belonged in the expensive penthouse he owned, coming and going with a lithe blonde at his side and assistants and minions doing his bidding. From what Zack could see, there was no contact at all between Max and Logan while he was there. The final clue, however, was the look of him, the darkness in Logan's eyes, visible even at a distance: Cale was focused, driven – bent on revenge. For what – and against whom – Zack never saw. But it was enough for him to find the appropriate garb to approach Logan as he now was...

Now forcing the meet, Zack had followed Cale's lead as the newly minted vice-president took off his suit coat to lay it in the back of the Aztek across the seat, the coat probably a hindrance to the man who now lifted his disassembled wheelchair into the space behind Zack. Neither of them said anything as Logan started his car, Zack waiting for Logan to speak as proof it was safe. It wasn't long...

"Thank you, Zack, for coming so quickly." He pulled out from the parking area to the road. "It may be unnecessary but in case anyone _is_ watching, let's go to lunch. You deserve at least a good meal for your trip."

"What's it all about?" Zack asked, as always, his manner with Logan brusque.

Logan glanced over to him and, hesitating only a moment, looked back to the road. "You need to get Max away from Seattle, as soon as you can manage. It's not safe for her here."

Zack's eyes narrowed as he looked at the face now clean shaven, gaunt with the crusade he appeared to be chasing. "I think I've said that before, more than once. What makes _you_ believe it now?"

Logan appeared to have no reaction to his words, but didn't answer right away. Finally, he allowed, "I never disagreed with you."

"But you let her stay..."

"Like I had a choice." Logan snorted, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Well, has that changed? Or have you?" At Cale's silence, Zack goaded, "what makes you ready to have her leave now? And to call me out of Canada to help you get rid of her? Not that leggy blonde fussing over you last night..." He expected the quick dart he saw of Logan's eyes to his, in question – men like Logan were so predictable...

But Cale swallowed, and his hands tightened on the wheel and the hand control he held, his eyes again turned back to the road. "Does it matter?" he asked. He still hadn't decided how much to tell Zack, not knowing how Max's "brother" would take to being summoned as he had. He didn't want Max to get wind of why he wanted her gone – knowing Max, she'd be all the more ready to stay and be at his side, demanding that she be there for him. He couldn't trust Zack not to spill it all to her, for whatever reason he might have. Not yet...

"If you want me to be convincing. The first time I tried to get Max away from here – away from you – she wouldn't budge. You never did anything to help me get her out of the area until that first trip to the cabin – and she came back, because of you. It's pretty clear you wanted her around, too, 'til now. What can I offer to make her want to leave?"

Logan refused to react. "That's your call."

"It would help if she could believe it." Zack countered.

Logan was silent for several moments, then drew a breath to offer, "How about if it's something that _you_ can believe? Something that will convince you that you _and_ she need to be gone for a while? Although I wouldn't recommend telling Max–it probably will just make her want to stay."

Zack stared at him, silent only for a moment before grudging, "I'm listening."

_**...to be continued...**_


	9. Eyes Averted

_**DISCLAIMER**__: Please see all previous; no ownership, no profits made._

**A/N: Nearly three years since an update? That can't be right!**

_I have appreciated the e-mails and comments from so many out there asking that this story be continued. As I've tried to explain in responses I sent to some of you, I have in mind what needs to happen in outline form, but all the details are a bear to work out, as I try to keep it (at least sort of close to) canon and have it all fit in between the scenes of "I and I Am a Camera," as I'm hoping to do. _

_So my apologies for the delay, and hope this continues to be of interest. I'd love to hear from you, if you're still reading – I hope all of you who have written are still out there! Once again, thanks to Mari83 for the pre-screening. All remaining confusion definitely my doing... _

**Edited to add** a thanks to sharp-eyed Mari83, who noticed something missing in the Max-Cindy scene. In honor of Mari -- the added missing item is an _apple_! :D

**JAM PONY11:38 A.M.**

Original Cindy coasted toward the large, open entrance, swung lightly off of her bike and walked it down the ramp toward Normal's bleating drone, waiving her signature sheet at him and ignoring whatever he was on about at the moment. _Same shit, different day,_ she dismissed it, even as she got the sense that both Normal and Sketchy – on the receiving end of this particular tirade – were trying to pull her into their dispute.

"Lunch." She cut them off with a wave of her hand, heading over to her locker, trying to make her glance into the waiting area as casual as she could. What she saw when she did, just as it had the past couple days, had her bothered.

_Max._

Max, sitting alone in one of the broken down, over-stuffed, chairs, staring grimly at the television in the corner, swatting someone's hand away when they tried to grab the remote and change the screen away to anything _other _than the news.

Her expression was dark and moody, her body language tense. Even sitting on one place, she was far from still: her foot twitched, her knee bounced, her fingers pulled at the loose thread on the chair arm. She'd been like that since Logan's uncle was splattered all over the six o'clock news – literally – and had been working on a few more bad-tempered days building up to it beforehand. She was tight-lipped and unwilling to say much beyond her suspicion that something was going on, but she didn't know what. And given Max's moody responses when she was pressed for more, that must be exactly what bothered her most – that she was out of the loop. Knowing Max as she did, Cindy was pretty damn sure that it all had to involve one of the most convoluted and intense – and important – matters in Max's life:

_Logan._

Cindy slammed her locker and straightened her shoulders. This was ending, here and now.

She marched up to the couch beside Max and sat down on its corner, hard, and faced her girl. "Here," she said first, shoving an apple under Max's nose. "Eat. Second..." she raised her hand to cut off the grumbling protest, allowing no resistance. "... go see him. Get some answers."

"I've _got_ his answer..." Max glowered, dangerously. "_Daphne_..." She drew out the sound of her possible rival's name with all the vitriol of a jilted prom date.

"You don't believe that for a minute or you wouldn't be sittin' here, bouncing around with all that pent up energy." Cindy leaned closer from the edge of the couch, speaking low, for privacy, but with all the strength she could muster. "You'd either confront the bitch, or confront him, or be cryin' your eyes out. But you're all twisted up inside..."

"Confront him about _what?_ Something that we never had? Guess I was just the hired help..." Max ground out the bitter words.

"You don't believe that." Cindy looked closely at her best friend and, seeing that she was getting though, down to another layer of Max's mood, pressed, "because you know it's not true. Logan's not like that..."

"So what _is_ he like? I _thought_ I knew him." The sudden intensity of Max's response made it clear that they'd hit a major topic in her brooding. "Something is going on and he's not telling me. No, it's more than that – he's not just hiding _some_thing, he's shut me out." She stared at the television screen, unseeing, her voice vibrating with tension as she added, as if in explanation, "he's a terrible liar with me and he knows it. It's easier for him just to avoid things."

"So go talk to him," Cindy urged again.

"I can't. I tried," Max got up, restless and wound up, pacing over to the table. Once there, where she arrived without purpose, nothing on its grungy surface to help her appear to have a reason for charging across the room, she gave up and just turned back to face Cindy. "He's changed," she admitted, painfully.

Cindy frowned, not sure which to believe – that Logan Cale had really changed enough to cut Max out of his life, after all the devoted looks and hopeful glances she'd seen from him – or that Max was doing her own hiding and deceiving, at least of herself, maybe all in an attempt to protect her from the clearly deep hurt she was feeling. "He talk to you?" Original Cindy tried.

"Not much," Max temporized.

"When was this?"

"The night of his uncle's funeral."

"Well, dayam, sugah, what'd you expect?" Cindy dared feel a little relief. "The boy's uncle just passed, one you say not only helped raise him, but a sorry-ass human being who may have been consorting with the enemy – and you just know that kind of drama in his own back yard would have Logan all tied up in guilt for a lot longer than a couple hours. Why don't you go back and give him another chance?"

"I did, and when I went back, I caught him, on the way out – with Daphne. Both of 'em all dressed up for a big night..." She let the image hover in the air, then added in a grumble, "probably out at the _club_..." Her mocking tone was more defensive than superior, Cindy noted.

"That girl ain't no competition for you, Boo," Cindy actually chuckled. "What you and Logan may have suspected, Original Cindy _know_ for real, from her own little night of heaven with the sistah."

Max frowned deeper, glancing up a Cindy only for a moment, processing it all. "Something's still off, Cindy..." she finally admitted, not liking what she saw as she again faced the fears parading through her. "He seemed ... different. Cold. Hard."

"Mourning?"

Max shook her head right away. "Cold – with _me_. Not with Daphne; he was laughing and having a great ol' time. But with me, he was ... " her voice trailed off before she glanced up again and admitted, "he'd been that way before Jonas was killed, too. I ..."

She couldn't tell Cindy what had happened with Ben, any more than she could tell Logan, and so Cindy couldn't really know what Max had been hiding from him – and what she feared he had managed to figure out, anyway. How could Max risk her friendship with Cindy any further by telling her about all that now, too, having so recently rocked it with the news about Manticore, her genesis and Lydecker's persistent pursuit? Without knowing about all that, Logan's sudden change in demeanor toward Max would seem like a passing phase, brought about by his uncle's death and CI's downfall. She could see why Cindy thought it would pass.

Max wasn't really worried about Daphne – she was worried about Logan. And not about his reaction to Jonas' death, nor even too much about his reaction to CI's crises. Bottom line, she was worried about his reaction to _her_: he might have finally decided that having a "genetically enhanced killing machine" under his roof was not something he relished. And losing someone she cared for so deeply, in _that_ way, for the first time in her life, Max wasn't sure the deep and painful wound she felt growing in her chest would ever be able to heal...

**EAST SEATTLE 11:51** **A.M.**

As they rode in the Aztec Zack remembered from his second visit to Seattle, he used all his training and street smarts to read the signals Cale was throwing out at him, in and around his words, and he could see that the man had decided – just now, just this very minute – to trust him with the truth, as he knew it. "I've discovered a group here who I think is either Manticore or their evil step-child," he began, pulling his phone from his pocket. "She seems to be the one in charge, at least of the group here in town."

Logan passed his phone to Zack, open and displaying a photo of Renfro, and tried to keep his eye on the road as he watched the transgenic's face. The reaction he saw – controlled, but a reaction, nonetheless – told Logan that he'd been right.

He swallowed the thread of worry it raised and went on, "Elizabeth Renfro. You know her?"

"After my time," Zack clipped immediately, knowing Cale had caught his dismay at seeing the woman's image on the phone's small screen. "But ... I know about her. She's out here?"

Logan nodded,"has been, at least on and off, for a few months." He glanced back at the darkening expression of his passenger and asked, "where _should_ she be?"

Zack frowned, realizing that it would be to everyone's advantage if he were as honest with Cale as the man seemed to be with him. With grunt of his own worry, the weight of his squad's safety still pressing heavily on him, he said, flatly, "wherever they're running the plays for Manticore." He stared out at the suburban scenery as they headed away from the sprawling property that made up Cale Industries. "She's Manticore's new Director."

**THE RIB ROOM**

**East Seattle 12:15 P.M.**

Zack had followed Logan into a hushed, elegant restaurant, the decor that of an old English clubroom, and wasn't surprised that they greeted him by name. Almost immediately, as he felt a touch of derision that Cale would move in such circles, it dawned on Zack that anything less for their lunch wouldn't keep up the image he himself had set up, by dressing as he had for this meet, and that such a place must be used often for confidential business deals and industry's top secret strategy meetings – so the two of them huddled in secretive conversation wouldn't seem the least bit out of character, and would be hard to bug without knowledge of their appearance there beforehand. Zack allowed that yet again, Cale proved himself to be savvy and resourceful with circumstances handed him.

He stubbornly refused to let it change his mind, though, as far as Max's return to Seattle went. That had still been the mistake of her life...

They were settled in at a table by a quiet waiter who left them menus and left them alone. Logan barely glanced at its offerings; whether out of familiarity or lack of appetite, Zack couldn't tell. He skimmed the pages quickly and decided to order as Logan did, to match his air of successful business executive. As he set down his menu the waiter reappeared.

"Salmon en Papillot," Logan ordered, his mind elsewhere, until he looked up to see a slight hesitation in Zack. Covering smoothly, he said to the X-5, "it's really very good, if you like salmon. A salad too, please," he added to the waiter, suspecting Zack would just order whatever he had, to avoid any potential slips. As he responded to the waiter's questions about dressing and drink, he saw Zack take one last, quick glance at the menu – and order as he had, passing on coffee for water. Finally the waiter moved away and the men were alone.

"Cale Industries is my family's company," Logan began, "and among their various ventures, they've been in the defense industry for a while now. One of their primary contracts is for ..."

"...hoverdrone manufacture." Zack supplied, "and your uncle, who was a part of that division, was killed by one of his own 'drones. I don't go into a meet without doing my own homework." With his words, he watched for any sign of duplicity or deception by Cale and saw none. _So even if Manticore has infiltrated his company, it hasn't co-opted him yet?_ Zack wondered. At least that seems true to his character – but over the past decade, Zack had seen the power of Manticore to woo and convince, along with their resources to search and destroy. "Max said you're a journalist, and you get involved with investigations of your own, when something catches your attention. I assume you've joined the family business to find out what got your uncle killed?"

Logan realized he should have expected exactly that from Zack; it actually made things a little easier and might let Zack trust his motives in all this. He nodded. "And in going though some surveillance tapes that only a couple of us knew where to find, I saw Renfro and her lackeys running a project there. Seems Manticore got itself involved in weapons development now, too, hardware and software – not just the genetically-engineered, biological kind."

Zack didn't seem surprised. "Apparently they do things like that, sometimes. It makes for a good cover story, any time the project was questioned or under some sort of scrutiny by Congress, any time there was any rumor that they were developing the sort of 'weapons' they did in developing us – they could document these other projects, which as I understand are handed over to the DOD or other departments, if successful."

"Doesn't seem to make them any less ready to kill to cover up their involvement." Logan considered the information, appreciating the piece of the puzzle Zack supplied. _Makes sense, and at least that connection would explain why Manticore was suddenly involved with non-genetic hardware..._ "They've apparently killed – or 'disappeared' – anyone involved with the hoverdrone project at CI."

"If it's hardware designed as an assassination device, they'd probably prefer it not be linked to them." He considered a moment, then, feeling some concern for the man who had been there for Max, when she needed it – for him, too, he had to admit – Zack warned, " Renfro's a loose canon – word is that she has her own agenda beyond just the stated goals of the X-series program. She clearly has no fear of cutting down people in her way to get it. If you can avoid her running into her..."

Logan shrugged, "too late." At the sudden rise of suspicion in Zack's eyes, Logan went on, "she approached me at a social event – I think she may have been sounding me out, to see what I might have uncovered at CI. Instead, I ... suggested ... that we wanted to do more projects with them, and that we weren't afraid of getting our hands dirty either."

"Well, that was stupid," Zack spat, low, as the waiter moved back toward them. They waited in silence as their salads and drink were placed before them, and as the man moved away, Zack added, "you want to get yourself in her sights, too?"

"I want to know if she killed my uncle and others at CI," Logan responded immediately, "especially if it was done with the government's blessing – although I suspect if pressed, they wouldn't exactly condone her actions. I also want to know if Manticore is setting up shop in Seattle, and if so, if it's all just a happy coincidence or if they've targeted Max again. When I started looking into things out there last week, they were pulling up stakes and taking those answers with them. I'm just trying to keep them around long enough to find out what happened."

"And risking Max as well as yourself in the process?"

"Getting to the topic of why I called you," Logan countered smoothly, irony coloring his voice. Zack watched the intensity burning in the eyes across the table from him and suddenly knew he'd found the real answer to why Cale was now ready to push Max away.

_At least he has the strength of character to keep Max out of this mess, when he has to realize that he might get much further, and get his answers more quickly, with Max's help._ Zack considered Cale's dilemma for a moment then asked, "so you think I can convince her to leave this time? Why will now be any different than before?"

Cale's eyes flickered at that; Zack saw that something that bothered him in the question, enough to break his steely glare from him. Still looking away, Cale covered by lifting his salad fork and making a tentative stab at the bowl of greens in front of him. "You said it yourself, 'that leggy blonde fussing over me last night...'" Logan's acerbic response preceded his soft, self-derisive snort. "Don't you think Max has seen her, too?"

Zack's eyes narrowed as he suddenly understood the lengths to which this man was going to keep Max safe. He dared, "do you think she'll believe it?"

Logan stopped stabbing at his lettuce and glanced back up to see a new expression on the transgenic's face, and fleetingly wondered if he could actually call it respect ... looking away again to fork a proper mouthful, he dropped his eyes again and said with a shrug, before lifting it to his mouth, "you did."

Zack nodded, faintly, and picked up his own fork to start eating. Allowing himself only one brief moment of appreciation for the well-made salad, with fresh, crisp vegetables so hard to find in the present economy and just the right mix of garnish and dressing, he conceded, "and I'm here to provide Max with a reason for finally leaving town."

Logan looked back up and saw that he now had the attention – and assistance – of Max's 'older brother,' one who would walk through fire to keep her safe. He nodded. "I realize that just telling her she needs to leave probably won't do it, but maybe if you could tell her you can take her to see a couple of the others, or if you could enlist her help with one of them... I'm just afraid it might need to be for a while, and unless you get her really far from here and keep her preoccupied for several weeks at least, it might not be enough – especially if she even suspects that Manticore was involved with the hoverdrone killings."

"Then we're in good shape." Zack allowed. When Logan's eyes asked for more, Zack made the decision to let him in, just enough to let him see that if he could truly sever all ties with Max, she might finally have a chance for a safe life.

_There is no such thing as a coincidence_, Zack mused, _and now there's evidence that the Director is in the area – if only to obtain some new robotic delivery systems. _Maybe she stumbled onto it while searching the area for Max, and decided to use it as a handy cover, just as he'd told Cale. But Zack couldn't treat Renfro's proximity as anything other than a direct threat on Max, who, according to his source, seemed to have a special place in Renfro's concerns. His source hadn't yet cracked that secret, but he'd long believed that Max must have been designed in a way different from the rest of them, because from as early as he could remember, there was always some special question about her from those in charge. Their trainers would always voice those extra concerns about Max, how she did in some of the training, how she was developing ... if there _was_ something unique about her make-up, it made sense that they would try even harder to get her back than they did the rest of the squad, if only to follow through with whatever they had planned for her – whatever it might be.

But every other time he'd tried to get Max away and to safety, she fought it, all because of the man seated across the table from him now – the man begging him to get it right this time and get Max away from Seattle. For that, he needed Cale's help – he was the only one who might convince Max that he wasn't worth the sacrifice...

"Only one other person knows about all of this, for now – any whiff of any of this gets to Manticore, from _any_one, and it's over," Zack said harshly, "and from what Max said, you understand exactly what _that_ means – so not a word, not even a hint, to anyone. Most of all, to Max. Are we clear?"

Logan nodded immediately, only vaguely wondering why Zack would tell him _any_thing, given his admitted contact now with Renfro, unless he'd decided that no one at Manticore would expect Logan Cale to have this information, so wouldn't press it. "Anything," he vowed.

Zack paused, clearly working out how to tell Logan only enough to earn his complete cooperation. "Based on information we've been able to develop," he began, "we believe that the only safe recourse for the twelve of us is to leave the country, but this time, not just across the border. We'll be far enough away that they won't make the connection, and won't have the resources _– or_ the political protection of allies – to just hop over the border and pick us up."

"Who's 'we?'" Logan asked. "You've gotten some of the others back together?"

"More than just me alone," Zack replied, unwilling to be more specific. "Most of the work has been done to set everything up, each part set up independent of the other to lessen the chance of discovery," he went on, as if Logan hadn't interrupted. "Now it's just a matter of gathering everyone together..."

"...including Brin?" Logan realized he must have a raid on Manticore planned in addition to everything else, and wondered just how and where _that_ would occur. _How wise would that be, going into the lion's den...? _

Zack grunted softly at the additional interruption, the only sign of the tension he felt in revealing even this much to Cale. "It's not safe for anyone involved – including you – that I tell you more than I'm going to say," Zack finished his salad. "I'm telling you this much only because, from what I've seen of Max, she's going to fight this time, too, just as she fought leaving Seattle after that first time I came for her – and as hard she fought to come back here when she decided you needed her." He made a point to ignore the reaction he saw in response, in Cale's expression. "This time I'm asking her to come a lot further, for a lot longer – maybe this time, long enough and far enough that she won't want to leave afterward. It would be helpful if you made it clear to her that you want her gone, too."

Other than a slight working of his jaw, Cale showed no sign of emotion as he nodded. He started to respond but faltered a moment, and reached for his coffee cup. Taking a long draw on the brew, he set down the cup and nodded again, his demeanor carefully neutral. "Maybe..." he paused a moment to clear his throat, his voice suddenly rough and hoarse. "Maybe not that I want her gone ..." he said evenly, "but that it makes no difference to me whether she stays or goes."

With his words, he lifted his eyes to Zack's, sealing the deal. Zack nodded his approval, wondering what it might be like to have met this man under other circumstances, wondering that he was so willing to give up his own desires when they weren't in others' best interests. Not unlike what Max had done, going back into harm's way for him ... not unlike what like even he himself had done, to keep Max safe...

Zack sat back as the waiter appeared again, this time with their fish, clearing the table and serving their meals with silent efficiency. In this small break in their conversation, Zack watched Cale closely, looking for a chink in the armor. He never saw one. Instead, he saw the hint of mournful sadness, that aching loss, that he'd seen in full bloom in Max's eyes back at Cale's cabin.

_Phony sentimentality, huh?_ he asked himself. _Maybe it's just that you haven't let yourself find a connection, like these two have. Whatever they have ... it's anything but phony..._

The waiter moved off, and Zack watched as Cale stared down at his plate. Swallowing once, hard, Logan slowly pushed the plate away an inch or so. He kept his eyes averted for another moment, but in the next, again lifted his eyes to look directly into Zack's, his control regained. Zack found himself at a loss for the proper response.

"Go ahead," Logan nodded toward Zack's plate, "you'll like it."

Zack hesitated only a moment before reaching up to carefully peel back the baker's parchment, the warm aroma of salmon and dill making his stomach growl in anticipation. He nodded and even affected a small smile. "Smells good," he agreed.

As he attacked his fish, they sat in silence, Cale soon opening his packet as well and pointedly moving the fish around the plate, making it look as if he ate, too. Zack knew there was nothing to be said that could make the man feel better, but was finally moved to offer something that might be of some small comfort. "We've been careful, and moved slowly. We've vetted all of it. It'll be safe..." he said, promising the man that the woman he loved would be away from all the danger she'd faced for so long. "Finally ... Max will get a chance to stop running." He looked up at Cale, again offering a hint of a smile. "Timing isn't bad, either," he shrugged. "Maybe it's all working out for the best."

Cale glanced away again, quickly, and pushed his salmon around a little more with his fork. "Yeah..." he said in a whisper so low Zack suspected only he would have been able to hear it. "It's all for the best..."

_To be continued._


	10. Eyes on the Prize

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all previous; no ownership, no profits made.**_

_A/N: I had intended a more substantive chapter of this story as my contribution to the Pulse Day Update Posting Challenge developed on BBWW – it seemed there were more requests for updates in this story than my other unfinished fic. I appreciate the interest, everyone. _

_But RL and other things got in the way and this isn't what I'd hoped to have. I'm really sorry – I hope to do a better version within the next coming weeks and will either take this down and put up what I hope will be an improved version, or will try to supplement soon. I especially want to apologize to those on BBWW who managed to get their done – sorry to let you down, guys – you've done a great job at bringing back M/L to the front page._

**CRASH 11:13 p.m.**

Max took a shot, and stood back to watch her ball spin across the balding green surface of the pool table, knocking a couple of the striped balls further from the table's pockets, but not dropping into the pocket quite yet, either. She wasn't in the mood for this, but wasn't in the mood for much of anything these days. Her thoughts were on Logan. Logan, and his latest drama. Logan ... and his distance ... Logan ... and her complete lack of inspiration how to break through.

_Maybe that's it ... maybe there __**is**__ no breaking though. Maybe if I stop pushing, he'll work through whatever it is and we can just get back to things, as they were. Or ... maybe __**I'll**__ get over it all and just get on with my life..._

_...like maybe __**he**__ already has._

Max barely reacted to the men's grunted celebration at having the table back as she glanced around Crash, registering with distracted disinterest her long familiar hangout. The place was its usual noisy, humid, grungy place, her friends engaged in their usual brainless banter, and she was suddenly acutely aware, once again, that there was no Logan waiting for her to escape for a game of chess or a half-way intelligent discussion...

"Boo, if he's got you so far down in the dumps, just go _talk_ to the boy." Original Cindy sided up to her, a new determination coloring her previously offered suggestion. "All this mopin' ain't doin' neither of you no good and ain't gettin' anything settled..."

Max drew a breath to argue that _he_ had nothing to do with anything, but quickly realized how lame it would sound – and how she just didn't have the energy to argue something that Cindy already saw through. "He hasn't exactly been around to talk," Max muttered.

"Since when have you let something like that stop you? You know where to find him..."

"He's been busy. With a special friend of _yours_," Max added, her tone a new mix for her of irritation and – Cindy could swear – jilted, hurt lover. "Guess she decided to come back to mixed doubles after having her fill of the all-girl team."

"_Hey –_ " Original Cindy turned to face Max full on and stepped close, an honest irritation emerging now. "I thought we went through this before. I ain't buying that Daphne is swingin' the other way, and I don't know if Rich Boy is cold or distant or whatever you said he's been." Cindy kept her voice low enough that the others wouldn't overhear, but she had no problem getting her point across. "I don't know what's up with you or him or Daphne and I am just about done givin' a rats ass about any of it." Her words were sharp and direct and working their way through Max's bruised emotions. "But you are making yourself and everyone around you crazy because your boy ain't callin' you no more and you won't do one thing to get face to face with him on it. Boo, you can mope all you want or you can snap at me, but ain't nothin' gonna fix things with Logan except talkin' it out with _Logan_."

"And what if he's decided..." Max blurted then stopped, realizing why this time it was so different, why with Logan she felt all the emotion she'd never thought to waste on any of the guys she'd known before. "Cindy ... what if he's decided that ... that having somebody hanging around him who was built by hand is just is a little too creepy and..."

"Max, that's bullshit, and you know it!" Cindy interrupted forcefully. "I've _seen_ how he looks at you..."

"Yeah? Well, me too, and that look has been _way_ different in the past couple weeks." Max snapped back at her friend – and then, as if she suddenly heard the words herself, her expression shifted, and Cindy saw a hurt, lonely woman in fear of losing – _what? Her first real love?_ Max's eyes looked into Original Cindy's, long, and shifted from defensiveness and frustration to hurt. "And..." she managed to pick up her words, "...and I don't think talking now will do anything but make things worse..."

Cindy's expression changed too, to a look of sympathy and understanding. "It might hurt, Boo, an' that's a fact. And you may be right – it may make things worse. But nothin' else is gonna give you your answers other than gettin' with Logan to find out what's goin' on with him. And that's gotta be better what you been workin' through here lately – isn't it?"

Max didn't answer.

With a sigh, Cindy came close to bump Max with her hip and loop an arm around her friend, saying nothing more. They stood silently for a few minutes, watching the others, until the table was passed back to them and, with an apologetic shrug, Cindy moved her off to take her turn.

Looking back to her friends, not really seeing them, Max frowned as she reconsidered those thoughts that had just arisen, recalling in the weeks after Ben how Logan looked at her as if he somehow knew it all, knew her for the killer she'd been made to be. If ever he was going to move on and away from her, it was now – his assessment of her ... his return to the world of Cale Industries and yacht clubs ...

... and Daphne ...

As Sketchy finally lined up his shot, the tales of his latest scam eliciting groans from his long-suffering friends, Max looked away from the table, her mind still over in Sector 9 and on the mess that had her at odds with Logan. Without thinking about it, in long-practiced habit, she scanned the crowd unconsciously ...

...and gasped involuntarily when she saw, across the room, the very familiar, determined gaze of her brother Zack as he sat at the bar and waited for her to see him...

**FOGEL TOWERS PENTHOUSE 10:13 p.m.**

Bling had worked in silence as he ran through Logan's late night ROM. In recent weeks their therapy sessions had been less frequent, and few words passed between them. Lately Bling's charge had been quieter, brooding, even secretive – and no amount of cajoling or lecturing would get Logan to let him in. Bling had been worried but realized that for the present, maybe the best he could hope for were these three or four sessions a week, when he could at least keep an eye on the man and be there when he was ready to open up.

And Bling sensed that tonight, despite the silence, something was on his mind. In the set of Logan's shoulders, the tension in his jaw...

It wasn't long before he spoke. "Look, Bling, you shouldn't have to come out so late. My schedule is hectic anyway, and it's not fair to you to make you accommodate..."

"Not a problem," the therapist countered smoothly, knowing precisely where this was headed. "So I start my days later, too."

"But it will be worse in the next couple weeks, and after – we're working on a new project... I don't know when I'll be here. And anyway – it's been how long now? We both know I can do this on my own."

"And I know you don't pay me to be your mother," the trainer worked steadily as he spoke, not breaking stride, " but we both know you won't keep up your ROMs – or keep an eye on your health – if someone isn't here to pester you."

"So you can call. Besides – if you take over Eyes Only, you won't have time."

That one caught Bling fully by surprise.

Logan saw the man react to that, and before Bling could start the inevitable protests – or questions – he continued, "same salary? Or – maybe you need a raise; I'll do what I can to manage that. My accountants are still trying to sort out what's what after CI was locked down, but I think we can work something out. Eyes Only needs to keep going, Bling, and I've let other things force it out lately. So..." he looked at his friend, seeing the look of deep concern there. "Interested?"

Bling's eyebrows drew into an even deeper frown as he looked for answers in Logan's face. "From the time you filled me in on everything, nothing has been more important to you than Eyes Only, not your health or your safety ... not even Max, though for a while it seemed as if she might be running neck and neck. I guess that's changed, too." When Logan looked away at his words, Bling knew he was getting close to the bone, and pressed, "and now you're trying to hand off Eyes Only, after pushing Max away..." Logan's small reaction of surprise told Bling that not only was he right, but Logan thought he'd managed to hide what he was doing. Bling just shook his head. "What is all this, man? Did you confirm that it _was_ Manticore involved in all of this, and you're hanging around Cale Industries day and night to ... what? Find out that they're doing? To force them out in the open?" When Logan said nothing, he added, "Whatever it is, you've decided that you need to protect Max in all this – and the best way is to chill her out." Bling laughed humorlessly at the thought, "man, don't you get it? That's just gonna make Max crazy enough to do press even harder, and do some digging of her own."

"No, it won't..." Logan said softly, finality heavy in his voice. "Not this time."

**CRASH 11:27 p.m.**

Max had mumbled something about heading to the ladies room as she caught Zack's eye and flashed a few terse hand signals to him, telling him there was a safe place to meet in the alley behind the bar. Looking around quickly only once, to see if her friends noticed her slipping outside – or if anything else seemed out of place – Max blended into the crowd and made her way out the back to the dank, dark alley where, none the worse for his last escape and evade, stood her older brother.

"Zack!" she blurred close and, as she had before, the first time she knew who he was, pulled him into a hug. If ever she needed a big brother, even if he was distant and professional, that time was right now. "Screw the 'phony sentimentality' crap, Zack – I'm really glad you're here."

Max felt Zack's arms circle her and return the embrace, still somewhat ambivalently at first, but he finally seemed to relax a little as he brushed his lips across her forehead in a protective kiss. "Okay Max – for you, I withdraw the 'phony' part." He pulled back to take an appraising look, and saw a Max much less settled and centered than he'd last seen her. He frowned slighty. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah – sure – always. Just surprised to see you," Max shook herself to smile at her brother, genuinely glad he'd interrupted her obsessing about Logan. "Are _you_ okay? It's got to be something major to bring you back here to Seattle, after everything – is something up?"

"Yeah – it's time to go, Max, and we need you." Her eyes rounded in stunned surprise as Zack's words tumbled from him. "No more running, for any of us. I've got a place now where we'll have protection even from Lydecker – from any of the black ops he can muster – with a government that won't cave in to their demands. It's warm there too, Max," he even laughed, "no more running up to Canada. They'll grant each of us asylum..."

"Asylum?" she echoed, her pleasure in seeing him giving way to concern about what he had planned. "Zack, what are you talking about? Any government that would be willing to take on this one..."

"... will at least leave us alone, if we're remote enough. Look, " he reasoned, "... it's okay – just a neutral place with no reason to suck up to the U.S. We have land, plenty of room and resources... a place to take Brin for reprogramming ... a place that we can get everyone out, and we can be together .. like it was before. We're going to get Krit and Syl, and plan one, last raid on Manticore. We'll get all of us – Tinga and Brin, too, _all_ of us – back together again, where we can finally stop running." He warmed up to his vision for them all. "If we're going to get them out, we need you, Max, we need your help. We'll plan a real rescue op this time, not another one of those on-the-fly assaults. We'll organize and plan, just the way we were trained to do."

"Zack..." Max looked for some sign, looked to see if he was crazy or drugged or if he really had built them a plan that could work. "even if it were possible, I can't just leave Seattle permanently; my home is here now..."

"Max – I know about 'home' for you these days. I did my recon." His eyes flashed cold, knowing that his next words would be the key to this mission – and how much was at stake. "Whatever it was that you had with Cale – it's over." As she sucked in her breath as if struck, he pressed, "face it, Max – whatever the reason – he's moving on, without you in the picture. He's back at his family's company and he's back out on the scene with some other woman – someone not Manticore. Did he ever offer to take _you_ any places like that, Max – or did he just keep you around as a genetically enhanced back-up?"

Zack kept his gaze steady as Max's eyes flashed with anger and something else, something he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before – certainly not in her – a pain that went deep, to the heart of her. And as much as he knew he was doing this for her, for the others – Zack found that the words he had to say to her to get her out of town weren't all that hard to believe. He'd seen the connections and relationships his siblings had tried to forge; had learned more than he ever wanted to know about Manticore and how all the creators and teachers, the trainers and commanders _really_ felt about them all. With all of that – he had never yet fully been willing to believe that what he said about Cale, in these moments – about his _true_ feelings for Max and his real reasons for keeping her close – weren't true...

Even so, Zack felt a moment of guilt for what he did, another layer of anger at Manticore for all they had done, all those who had been pulled into its net through their connections with those Manticore had created. No matter how much Cale used Max for her abilities, there was genuine pain in the man as he schemed to send Max away. Looking at Max now, Zack couldn't deny the heartache he saw in her beautiful, sad eyes. Just because he had not allowed himself to become involved didn't have to mean it was impossible, as nearly all of his siblings had proven...

...but even so: for a man who professed to care for Max, Cale had done a lousy job of showing it, Zack reminded himself brusquely – putting her at risk by getting her involved in his shady projects, whatever the hell they were, by allowing her to return to Seattle when Lydecker was practically waiting at her doorstep. At least now, finally – when it suited his own purpose as well as kept Max safe – Cale was giving Max the boot.

_And it was about damn time._

Max had said nothing in the face of his accusations, and Zack knew that, this time, she had little to say to contradict the past few weeks as Cale had carefully cut her from his life. Softening slightly for the hurt she must be feeling, Zack nevertheless went for the kill shot. "You know it's true, Max," he said low, stepping even closer until he practically breathed in her ear. "It's no different than what they did at Manticore – we were made as tools, as functionaries, that's all – and Logan Cale saw that function and skill package and became your new CO – your new Manticore. He found a effective operative in you and took advantage of what you had to offer."

"You're wrong," she breathed, in a harsh, deadly whisper, barely audible. "All the rest, the crap with Daphne and Cale Industries and whatever messed him up when his uncle was killed, all of that, hell, you may be right. But Logan was never like _them_ – _ever_." Her eyes filled as she felt herself arguing with herself as vehemently as she argued with Zack, realizing her worst fear was that maybe ... maybe ...

She turned and stalked away. Suddenly realizing he might have gone too far, Zack moved to catch up with her. "Max, you can't walk out on Brin and Tinga – the longer we wait, the more..."

"I'm not walking out on them!" She stopped and spun back to face him, her eyes flashing. "I'll go with you tomorrow – but you have to let me have a few hours, maybe ten or twelve, I don't know how much time it will take..."

"Max, we have to go..."

"We'll go. But before we do I need to go see Logan first – I need to decide if I'm going to come back to Seattle after we're done..."

**FOGEL TOWERS 12:02 a.m.**

_Alone again_.

As he stared out into the night, his second scotch of the night in hand, Logan reflected on the ties he was severing, all at once, ties with the two people who had been closer to him in the past year than anyone had been in so very long. Bling ... well, Bling would be around, probably, not willing to let too much time go by without checking in. But Bling he could hold at arms' length, could slowly shut him out like an outgrown friend ... he knew he could do it believably. It was cold; it was not something the man deserved, just the opposite – but for his own safety ... even for the good of Eyes Only... it was necessary. And maybe, someday, down the road... well, maybe someday he could explain. The thought made it just a little easier to face.

But Max... What had she said once, that he was the 'lone wolf' type? Had she meant it, or was it all a part of the teasing she'd been doing, when she had first learned about Val, and was determined in her own, taunting way to ferret out the information about his ex-wife? Since then, every once in a while, when he remembered her reaction he pretended that she did so out of a bit of jealousy too, that maybe it bothered her, just a little, to think of him with another woman...

...the way it was killing him to think of her with Zack, right now. She might still think of him as a brother, but it was clear that wasn't what Zack thought of their connection. And though Zack was all business when they discussed their plan for getting Max away from Seattle – which Logan still had to appreciate, down deep – Logan knew what the man must be thinking. _I'm all but giving the bride away at the wedding_, Logan swallowed, the ache in his gut getting more insistent. _Who knows if they'll ever hook up – but if they do, I've given them my blessing with all this – haven't I?_ It was clear, ever since the last time Zack had come to take Max away, that it would take a seismic shift in their status quo to get Max to leave Seattle _– _to leave_ him –_ if even Lydecker and exposure had not.

And once again Logan cursed his pigheaded, obstinate, obtuse conviction that Max was beyond his reach, when that simple truth had been right under his nose all the time. _Serves you right, bucko, the most remarkable woman in Seattle comes back to stay, under threat of capture, imprisonment, and God knows what else, and you know damn well it wasn't just 'cos she liked her job. You squandered it all by feeling sorry for yourself that you weren't good enough for her as you are ... and now you have to run her off by convincing her you don't have feelings for her..._

_Nice little life you've gotten yourself into now, Cale, _he reminded himself yet again as he stared into his drink, feeling its effects, but not the numbing sensations he'd hoped for – anything but. Instead, he remembered how Zack looked as he quickly agreed to get Max away from Seattle ... away from him... safe. At least she'd be safe; hell, she'd be with her siblings, something she'd wanted more than anything in this world. Zack gave him his word.

_And if it makes Max happy – if __**he**__ makes her happy – well, what's the downside?_

He lifted the chilled glass to his lips and took another long draught of the rare single malt that both chilled and burned as he swallowed. In a sudden memory, he felt a bitter laugh catch in his throat as his eyes burned. _'If he can take it, so can I,'_ his thoughts paraphrased the lines he suddenly remembered, from another tragic love gone wrong in war time. Throat tightening with the pain of what he'd set in motion, and what he stood to lose, he lifted his glass in a mock salute, out into the night, out to Max, wherever she might be. "Here's looking at you, kid," he whispered, the stars swimming before him.

_If Bogey could do it_, he vowed, _so can Eyes Only_...

_**To be continued...**_


	11. Eyewitness

_**DISCLAIMER: Please see all previous; no ownership, no profits made.**_

_A/N: I know; unheard of, another update to this long dormant story. Consider this the rest of the chapter I should have had ready for the Pulse Day Posting Challenge._

_Another big thank you to Mari83 for reading and commenting and being nice enough to keep encouraging more fic! Thanks as well to all of you who have kept reading and kept Max & Logan fic alive. I would love to hear any and all comments you may have __ – reviews are the only way we know you're still hanging in there...  
_

**FOGEL TOWERS 12:03 a.m.**

Logan answered the phone on the first ring. "Yeah," he said tersely.

"She left maybe ten minutes ago _ – _probably on her way."

"Got it." He disconnected Zack's call and drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he focused on the skyline through the window in front of him, acutely aware of what he had set in motion. His mouth was dry; his shoulders and neck ached in his exhaustion. He hadn't slept much in the days since his uncle's murder and it didn't appear he'd have the luxury of much sleep soon. Too many things to accomplish ...

He knew he was taking the coward's route; he also knew that this was likely to be the most effective way of severing ties with Max, given Zack's help in the plan. If he didn't see her, he wouldn't crumble and she wouldn't see through his carefully developed facade, and maybe the combination of Zack's insistence along with his absence would be enough to carry his deception, even to Max...

He glanced away from the window briefly to look around the still mostly empty condo he'd taken not long after he bought the penthouse, first as a financial hedge, the combination of realty investment and the rents it brought making a good return, according to his accountant, and very recently, when the last tenants moved out, used now as a last-resort safe house. Logan had begun to think it might be needed sooner rather than later, as his other safe houses became compromised – or unusable to him in the chair. Not even Bling or Max knew about it and, at the moment, it would serve his purpose perfectly. There was nothing that should give his presence, here a just a few floors below, to anyone in the penthouse.

_Showtime._

He moved from the front window to the hall door, and, passing by the kitchen counter to pick up the slim, dark laptop, still waiting there, went on into the entry to wait. There was no guarantee that Max would be the only one taking the elevator up toward the penthouse this late, but it was a good bet, and listening for its passing was the only way he could have an idea what was going on with Max now. It was the only way he could monitor the situation, after all – and he had to sit tight there for the time being, anyway...

Logan sighed and opened the still-new computer, trying to bring his thoughts back to the project he wanted to pitch to Renfro, but unable to keep his thoughts from what would be happening in his penthouse any time now. Everything was in place; he'd had everything ready for Bling, at least the basics, so he could maintain Eyes Only while Logan was working to restore CI. He'd even handed over the keys to the place Sebastian had helped him arrange for the maintenance of the equipment he needed to keep Eyes Only going – at least for the time being, he told himself again...

_And how long would that be, Cale? Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into here?_

He shook it off. It was far too late, and he was far too far down this road, to get cold feet now. He drew a steadying breath and turned to the laptop balanced on this thighs as he kept vigil at the door, waiting for the sound of the elevator, wondering if she'd even bother with such a pedestrian mode of access...

At least one of the perqs of working back at CI was the ready access to the best technology currently available on the market, and the new laptop computer he requisitioned from the company's IT group was a much better than the one he'd left upstairs, that first one he'd managed to locate after the Pulse, 'rescued' from a computer supply company not all that long after everything went dark.

Thoughts of the early days after the Pulse and his never-ending reliance on his computers led this thoughts back to the sleek metal flashdrive unit in his pocket, seeming to weigh warm and heavy against his chest, as if anxious to download its stores. _Not yet_, he counseled himself. _Another few days won't hurt, and who knows if waiting might be the better choice for now – just in case._ He let his fingers trace the shape as he wondered again where he should hide the small drive, which held in its two inches length so much of what his life – and Eyes Only– had been about these last few years, all the contacts and intel he'd gathered, all the secret deals and swindles done by organized crime and organized government alike, all the corruption and vice in those with power ...

... all the intel he'd managed to find about Project Manticore and everyone associated with it...

Such a small, easily overlooked item which bore information of such a critical nature that he couldn't imagine letting it out of his hands long enough to hide it, but knew if he were compromised he ran the risk of exposing countless innocents in the Informant Net, his closest friends ... Max and her family. Suddenly it dawned on him – _practically on me_, he mused. _Close but probably not likely to be found, even in the most scrupulous pat down, if it came to that..._

He felt along the underside of his chair seat to its right side seam, finding one of the small gaps he'd pulled open and re-secured with velco, early on – he hadn't used this in some time but it was a trick Bling had mentioned, one that was used sometimes by a few of the guys on his basketball team to stash an emergency key or credit card or a few dollars, a place not usually checked by petty thieves who found wheelchair users an easy target.

The gap opened smoothly, and Logan found that the velco was still tightly mounted. With only a slight hesitation for moving it even that far from direct body contact, Logan pulled the metallic cylander from his pocket, slid it into the gap in his cushion, and carefully sealed back any opening that might allow its discovery – or its loss. _Just a few days at most_, he promised himself, steeling himself as he thought he heard the sound of the elevator passing his floor. _For this ... and for Max to get away, with Zack. _And after that ... he could press for the restoration of Cale Industries – and the elimination, at least from Cale Industries' hallways, of Manticore and their scheming Director...

**FOGEL TOWERS 12:06 a.m.**

Max rode the elevator up to the penthouse, not sure what she could say to Logan in the state he'd been in lately, but needing to know what he'd say to her leaving – and about her returning. The showdown had been long in coming, this just gave it a focus.

_Are you ready for whatever answer you get, Max?_ she asked herself. Her head – and, she knew, even her heart – told her that she might well hear that he _wanted_ her to go, that he was done with her, didn't need or want her help, maybe didn't even want her around in his new life. But she couldn't hear it yet, not really – she _knew_ Logan, she knew she did, and what she'd seen and heard from him lately wasn't _him_...

The elevator doors opened and she went to the door, finding it locked, as she expected. But before she could shift into the well practiced movements needed to open the lock she heard a new sound – one familiar to her but so unexpected here that she startled and shifted back from the door, as if struck–

A new, upgraded, self adjusting security system – one designed to increase protection against entry through the secured door by throwing additional barriers and locks into the reinforced framing upon the sensors picking up an attempt ...

_He'd added more locks without telling her? To keep __**her**__ out?_

After only a moment's hesitation, she turned and hurried to the fire stairs and, running up to the maintenance access to the roof, crossed over to the skylight ...

And gasped audibly in pain when she found it had been _sealed_...

With tears stinging her eyes, Max moved back across the roof and down the stairs, silently, back to Logan's floor. With new determination fueled by her quickly weakening denial, she found her way to the service panel for the heating and air conditioning and, making short work of the 'unbreachable' security bars beyond the service bay, Max crawled into the ducts and found her way to the utility closet inside Logan's penthouse.

There had been no question she'd get inside, only how – and Logan _had_ to know that, she was sure. She was willing to believe that it was merely added security for Eyes Only until she found the skylight newly sealed, knowing he'd probably not have thought of it at all until she made him aware of its vulnerability some months ago.

She still refused to consider what it meant until she saw him ... _with Logan, there is always a logical explanation_, her certainty slipping in the face of reality, no matter how stubbornly she tried to believe this had nothing to do with her. _There has to be something..._

Max slipped out of the closet silently and into the far end of the front hall, listening carefully. Clearly no one was here, and the place had been empty for a while – no lingering scents of meals prepared, of showers, even of coffee. It was dark and even the usual glow from the computer room was absent. She set off down the hall to glance in the bedroom and check the bathrooms and his front rooms, but she knew she'd find them empty. As she moved through, she started to wonder if she'd find any evidence at all of where he was – and why he'd done what he did.

After moving through the front of the penthouse, she came back to the computer room, always the base of his operations, and felt a sudden chill take her as she saw immediately that it was different: the cameras he used to make his broadcasts, usually present but tucked aside to be a bit less obvious, were missing now. Two of the CPUs and several of the ancillary units he needed to support the Informant Net were gone, too.

There was no sign of a struggle, not even of dust disturbed, as if the removal of the items were followed by a methodical wiping down of the area – no haste or hurry, just the opposite.

Forcing back her rising anxiety, she grabbed the side chair and sat in front of his array, turning on the system. But instead of the familiar, warming hum and cascade of blinking lights along his equipment that usually signaled the system coming to life, the monitor scrolled up a line of text and waited, cursor blinking accusingly:

_No hard drive detected._

Her mouth was ashen.

She popped up from the chair, unable to sit still, to just take the slap in the face at face value, unwilling to believe the inevitable, and looked frantically around the room. _What has he done with Eyes Only?_ she tried to assess, the evidence so unexpected she couldn't process it. Not only was Eyes Only's equipment missing, there was simply no sign that Logan had been here much at all lately. She knew he had to be around, in town, or at least on some planned trip, because if something had happened to threaten his safety, she'd have heard by now, from Bling or Matt – _wouldn't she?_

_What the hell was going on, Logan, that you push your life's work out of your life now, too? _She was slowly beginning to believe she knew...

Shaking off the reaction, she suddenly remembered his laptop, the one he rarely left behind, and though it was unlikely to be here it had to be the answer...

...but she found the laptop on the coffee table next to a neat stack of papers. She threw open the lid and pressed the power button, flipping through the pile of documents as she waited for it to power up. All she found was minutes from Cale Industires' shareholders' meetings over the past six months, all public and all pasteurized, and a couple innocuous e-mails from Bennett....

The laptop opened for her, blinking essentially the same message ...

_Drive inaccessible or corrupted. Reinstall operating system and reboot._

Emotions rising, Max strode back to his computer room and looked hurriedly in one drawer, and another and another, all full, previously, of reports or data; they were now empty. His bug-out supplies, an extra gun and IDs, credit cards, all that, were gone, and in their place were more Cale Industries documents. Unable to deny the obvious much longer, Max pulled out the drawer where Logan had kept the few printed items they dared to keep around connected with Manticore, found it, too, empty, with the exception of one large manilla envelope, addressed and stamped for post office delivery – _stamped, for the slow, undependable mail!!_ – addressed to _her_, care of Jam Pony...

She ripped it open and felt her heart rip as she peered in – no note, no explanation, no nothing inside – only her initial 'payment' for their months of _quid pro quo_...

_...the final straw..._

She threw the envelope to the floor and, vision blurring, her eyes stinging with the salty tears refusing to be held back now, she retraced her steps to the utility closet, the air ducts and out into the corridor. She forced her breathing to steady and slapped her emotions aside.

_I will never mislead you, soldier,_ Lydecker's voice seemed to taunt her with his own brand of 'I told you so.' _No matter how pleasant emotions may be for a while, they will be your downfall. Don't let them be your Achilles' heel. You can't ever afford to relax your guard and let your emotions let you think you're safe when you're not.... or let you think you're accepted where you're not. You have a function; you have a purpose... and relationships with civilians, no matter what they may say, are not safe – and aren't ever what they may seem._

Max bit her lip, hard, mentally exorcising Lydecker's ghost from her thoughts. No matter anything else, no matter what she'd just seen, no matter about Logan past or present, she wouldn't be deluded into thinking that Lydecker was actually one of the good guys – she knew better than that. What she _did_ know, however, was that Zack was her CO again and had her interests at heart, had the good of the unit always foremost in his mind. She refused to think about the past twenty minutes, because if anything would break her heart again, almost as much as it had been broken by her encounter with Ben so recently, it was the past twenty minutes and what that meant for the past year...

_A whole year!_ her broken heart tried to remind her...

Again biting her lip, hard enough to draw blood this time, she focused on planning for the mission ahead with Zack, considering what she needed to bring and what provisions she might have to allow them to move past the checkpoints and out of the country. They would be taking the old familiar routes into Canada at first, as it was the fastest way to get out of Manticore's jurisdiction, but they would immediately head east, into new territory for her, making their way south eventually via a transatlantic hop, probably by air but determined when they got closer to Toronto...

She slipped outside and down the block to where she had stashed her bike, far enough that its engines wouldn't be heard in the penthouse – even though, as it had happened, her caution was unnecessary. Mounting the bike and turning the key, she revved the engine and took off down the block, never once looking behind her.

And behind her, in the dark of the penthouse, the spilled contents of an envelope – a black and white photo of a freckle-faced boy and a two page juvenile rap sheet, the only hard copy documents Logan still had of her childhood, lay across the hall, accusingly ...

_**...TBC...**_


End file.
